


Brother's Keeper

by Elizabeth Lowry (Suz)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:31:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suz/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Lowry





	Brother's Keeper

 

BROTHER’S KEEPER

 

 

### PROLOGUE

 

Starsky jerked at the sudden scraping of teeth along his cock. His back arched, his ass lifted from the thin mattress, and his fingers wrapped around the metal frame to keep the rest of his body from leaving the bed.

The man between his legs continued sucking his cock, his blond head moving up and down with an arrhythmic cadence. The man’s thumbs stretched the sensitive skin where thighs met hips, and occasionally a hand dipped down to cradle his balls and massage them.

Starsky had long since lost awareness of anything but the bursts of electricity torpedoing through his body. The heat of the night, the moans of arousal from the room next to theirs, the traffic outside—nothing broke through except waves of mounting pleasure.

Each time the blond sucked, Starsky’s cock seemed to lengthen another inch. Inch by painful, pleasurable, wonderful inch. Tracers streaked behind his closed eyelids and a mine went off in his groin.

Starsky was vaguely aware someone was flipping his body and grabbing his ass, squeezing his buttocks hard even as they were being forced apart. A sharp, stabbing pain broke through his trance. Starsky buried his face in the yellowed mattress and put a death grip on the iron frame.

The body on top of him used weight and strength and potency to impale him from the inside and master him from the outside. Starsky wriggled, trying to increase the pleasure tickling him inside. He could feel another orgasm building….

“My turn, not yours,” the voice hissed.

Starsky steadied, and the man behind him dug his fingernails into Starsky’s ass flesh and pushed even further up into him.

Still, warm wetness flooded him from outside as well as inside when the next mine went off.

The blonde pulled his cock from Starsky, groaning. When Starsky felt the weight shift off his body and onto the end of the mattress, Starsky rolled over.

The blond sat back, blue eyes boring into Starsky. “You aren’t going tell about this, are you?”

“Who would I tell?” Starsky’s voice was hoarse. He ran a thumb over his brow, swiping away the sweat.

“You know who,” the blond accused.

Starsky lifted himself on his elbows and frowned. “Hey.” The appeal came out as a whisper, but still a plea. He cleared his throat. “Who do you think I am?”

The blues eyes darkened, as if to say “you’re mine.”

Starsky shifted uncomfortably. “What’s between us is no one else’s business. I’m not going to tell Henderson, I’m not going to tell Trenton, and I’m sure as hell not going to tell your family. Especially your ‘you know who’ fuckin’ brother you’re so worried about.”

The blond man nodded almost imperceptibly, then lifted off the bed with a grunt. Starsky flopped back down on the mattress and covered his eyes with his forearm. _Won’t tell anybody,_ he thought to himself. _People would get the wrong impression. Think we’re homo. Ruin our careers. Bring down the wrath of our families._

_Give our brothers ammunition to use against us._

Starsky turned on his side. His—what? lover? partner? brother? mentor?—was already dressed.

“Let’s go, babe,” the man said.

Starsky rose and dressed.

 

**Chapter One**

 

Hutch was still balanced precariously on the edge of his chair when Starsky returned from the bathroom. He resumed his position at Hutch’s side, standing, as there were no empty seats close by. He glanced down at Hutch, noting for the first time that evening Hutch’s choice of apparel. Hutch was wearing tan corduroys that complemented light brown boots, a plaid shirt with threads of red, gold and green, a forest green tie knotted loosely under an unbuttoned collar, and a stiff, new linen jacket, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

Starsky allowed a corner of his mouth to lift in amusement as he appraised his own outfit: crisp jeans over new leather sport shoes, sparkling white cotton shirt, and a sleek, blue-black leather jacket. He’d been hesitant over choosing such new articles of clothing to wear, afraid the effect might be overwhelming. But apparently Hutch had had the same inclination, and there was safety in numbers.

Starsky caught Hutch wiping his palms on his pants legs, and resisted the impulse to dry his own. Instead, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and deftly crossed his arms against his chest in one inconspicuous movement, lodging his palms against the material of his leather. He cleared his throat and spoke. “Flight should be arriving any time now.”

Hutch didn’t even glance at his watch.

Starsky tried yet again to begin a conversation. “I’m glad you could get out of your dinner date to meet his plane after he switched to this earlier flight.”

This brought an immediate response from Hutch, a look both sharp and cautioning. Starsky ignored it. The remark hadn’t been meant as a barb, and he wasn’t in the mood to challenge. He made one last attempt to engage Hutch. “I’m pretty nervous. How about you?”

Hutch sighed, and nodded. Starsky accepted the response as all he was going to get from Hutch. Silence was a recent manifestation of Hutch’s moodiness, and the easiest way to handle it, he’d learned, was to let it be.

A female voice announcing the arrival of the flight they awaited caught his attention, and he turned toward the gate expectantly. Hutch rose to stand behind him, smoothing the creases in his pants as he did.

“I’m afraid I won’t recognize him,” Starsky said without turning. He pulled at the cuffs of his jacket. “Well,” he answered himself, “he’ll probably spot us first anyway. You know how he was—is.”

A smattering of passengers began to emerge from the passageway, and then they became a crowd. Some splintered off from the group to greet relatives and friends, others headed for the escalator that would take them to Baggage Claim, a few scurried for the bathrooms. Starsky scanned their faces, aware Hutch was doing the same.

A man emerged from the dim hall, holding back from the push of the crowd. A hand gripped Starsky’s arm, and Starsky sucked in his breath.

The man was slightly taller than most of the people around him, and lean to the point of being gaunt. He moved slowly until he was just outside the gate and stopped, staring straight ahead. Others jostled past him, but he remained ramrod stiff. Starsky held his breath and gazed at him. He was balding, and definitely appeared older than Starsky had imagined he’d look. The thinning hair was duller than the cornstalk he remembered. And the eyes had lost something. But even from a distance he could still recognize the clear blue he’d come to rely on so long ago. Starsky glanced at his partner, then back at the man. The forehead was a little higher, the nose a little flatter, the chin a little more square. But the color of those eyes were the color of a Hutchinson’s.

“Bobby.” The word came out as no more than a whisper. Starsky swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried again. “Bobby!” The name cut through the terminal noise and caught the man’s attention.

The man started as if waking from a dream, and looked around himself self-consciously. An expression of puzzlement passed over this face, and he tilted his head as if he were listening for something. A woman brushed up against him and he jumped back.

“Bobby!” Starsky called again, and the man finally focused on him. A smile grew across Starsky’s face, and he took a step forward. Hutch’s grip kept him from going any further. Instead, the man walked toward them.

Ten, eleven, twelve steps; the man stood before them. Starsky continued to smile as familiar blues eyes searched his face.

“Davey?” the man asked.

“Bobby!” Starsky could no longer contain himself. He flung his arms around the man, breaking Hutch’s grip in the process. The man within his embrace stiffened. Starsky released him. He tried to look into Robert’s eyes, but they refused to meet his. His smile disappeared, and he retreated a step.

Starsky turned to Hutch for help. Hutch was staring at the man, frozen in his own place, confusion playing over his features. No help there. Starsky turned back to Robert.

“You look terrific,” he enthused. “How was the flight?”

“Fine.” Robert’s eyes locked onto Hutch’s. They stared at each other, no movement from either. Starsky stood uncomfortably between them. His palms began to sweat again, and reflex made him wipe them on his jeans. He searched his mind frantically for something to say.

“Hey!” An idea burst forth. He reached out and touched Hutch’s arm in an effort to gain his attention. “Hey! Do you realize this is the first time I’ve ever seen you two together?”

Hutch finally did look at him, and Starsky raised two eyebrows in helplessness. Hutch bowed his head, and when he looked up he’d managed to replace bewilderment with a fairly sincere smile. Starsky allowed himself a thimbleful of hope.

Hutch held out his hand. “Robert, it’s, uh—it’s good to see you.”

Robert took the hand tentatively, then pulled Hutch into the embrace Starsky had expected for himself. He watched as Hutch accepted the hug passively, only briefly squeezing back.

“Kenny,” Starsky heard Bobby whisper.

Hutch pulled free gently and stepped back. “You look pretty good,” he ventured. “You look—well.”

Starsky took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This reunion was getting off to a shaky start. He stuffed his still wet palms into his jacket pockets. “You do look good,” he agreed.

Robert considered the appraisal carefully. “I’m a little out of shape,” his hand rose and pressed against his abdomen. “My back could use some work, but my stamina and strength are good.” He looked Starsky up and down. “What about you?”

Starsky straightened under the gaze and took his hands out of his pockets. He sucked in his stomach as unobtrusively as possible.

“Something’s off,” Robert mused. His manner was becoming more casual and his stance less rigid as he took to the task of appraising Starsky. Starsky enjoyed the attention, but kept from showing it on his face.

“You’re, I don’t know, darker,” Robert passed his judgment.

Starsky shrugged happily and relaxed as Robert’s attention moved to Hutch.

“What’s that?” Robert eyed Hutch intently.

“What’s what?” Hutch’s eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms against his chest.

“That thing on your lip,” Robert gestured at Hutch’s face.

Hutch raised a hand and fingered his moustache. His face flamed, accentuating the pale hair over his lip.

Starsky covered a laugh with a cough and reached for the carry-on bag Robert had with him. “How about if we go find the rest of your bags and get out of here. They ought to be unloading by now.” He took a few steps backward. “I’ll bet you’re pretty tired after the flight.”

“Ummm,” Robert still stared at Hutch. “Blonds shouldn’t wear moustaches. You ought to watch light colors like that jacket, too. Of course, you don’t want to get too prissy with your wardrobe, or people will think you’re a fag.” Robert winked knowingly at Hutch, then suddenly turned and headed for the escalator.

Starsky took a few steps to follow, then stopped as he realized Hutch was not moving. Crimson still colored Hutch’s face, making the half-shut eyes and tight lips appear menacing. Arms were clasped tightly over his chest.

“ _I_ like the jacket,” Starsky teased. Hutch made no sign he’d heard him.

“Davey!” A voice boomed from the top of the escalator. Starsky responded immediately and walked toward Robert, not looking back to see if Hutch was following. He joined Bobby at the stairs and rode down one step behind him. They made their way to the luggage carousels and claimed Robert’s bags before Starsky found Hutch was behind them.

Starsky carried the smaller bag and duffel, Hutch hefted a larger suitcase, and Bobby carried nothing to the car. The bags were packed away quickly and quietly in the trunk. Starsky opened the doors and slid in behind the steering wheel. Robert stooped to enter on the passenger side, then straightened and faced Hutch. Their eyes locked, each waiting for the other to make a move.

“Are you trying to add another hour on my parking ticket?” Starsky called from inside the car. He started the engine.

“No.” Hutch broke first and fumbled his way into the back seat. Robert folded into the front.

Starsky weaved the car out of the airport traffic and chose a quiet side street rather than Sepulveda to take them to Venice. He checked his rearview mirror and adjusted it, not to capture the traffic behind him but to watch Hutch. Hutch had slid into the corner and was gazing out the window. The ride to Venice from the airport was not long, and Starsky passed the ride looking first from Hutch, then to Robert. There was no further conversation.

Arriving at Hutch’s apartment, Starsky pulled the car into the nearest parking space, about a block away.

“You live here?” Robert was looking at a great concrete building.

“No—“ Hutch slid out of his corner, “—back there.”

Robert turned to look at Hutch. “You don’t have any allotted parking, do you?” It sounded like an accusation.

“No,” Hutch retorted. “So what?”

“I’m going to need help with the bags,” Starsky cut in. He opened his door and stepped out, grateful for the cool ocean breeze. He unlocked the trunk and pulled out the luggage, the car jostling as Robert and Hutch got out. Starsky handed Hutch the suitcase. As Hutch took it, Starsky maintained his grip, forcing Hutch to tug at it. Hutch looked at him, and Starsky answered with eyes wide and questioning. Hutch jerked the case away and started back to the apartment. Starsky shut the trunk lid, picked up his load, and followed. Robert walked a step in front of him.

By the time Robert and Starsky had reached the front entrance, Hutch had disappeared up the stairs.

“Kenny lives over a restaurant?” Robert asked as they entered. “I guess chubby is as chubby does.”

“Chubby?” Starsky pushed the door shut with his rear. “Hutch?” He climbed the stairs behind Robert.

“Ask him about Dr. Quartermain sometime. I’m surprised he never mentioned him before. Ask him about the fat camp, too.” Robert took the last few steps two at a time and left Starsky behind. By the time Starsky made it to the apartment both Hutch and Robert had their jackets off and were maintaining a respectable distance.

Starsky stepped inside. “Hey, Hutch, can you get the door for me?”

Hutch thought a moment, then walked over and shut and locked the door. Starsky dropped the bags and stood in front of him, keeping Hutch from returning to the room.

“What?” Hutch asked in exasperation.

“Is everything okay?” Starsky probed. “You haven’t exactly been Mr. Sunshine tonight. Would you rather Bobby stayed at my place?”

“He’s here. All the plans have been made. Everything’s okay, all right?” He met Starsky’s eyes, then pushed past him. Starsky looked at the door, trying to decide what was going on and what he should do about it.

“Want a beer?” A hand held a cold can of beer against his cheek. He reached for it and turned to face Robert. Robert smiled at him and raised his can in a toast. Starsky tapped it with his. Robert gave an approving nod and strolled to the couch. Starsky popped the top and took a generous mouthful of the drink.

“Well,” Starsky took a moment for another sip. “What shall we do now?”

“That’s an invitation I haven’t had in a long time.” Robert finished off his beer, crumpled the can, and tossed it across the room into the sink. “Two points!” he cheered.

“We’ve got work tomorrow,” Hutch went to the sink. “I think we ought to call it a night.”

Starsky sighed. Early evenings were another manifestation of Hutch’s moodiness. “Okay,” he agreed somberly. “How about if we all have lunch tomorrow?”

Robert mulled over the suggestion. “I think we can arrange that, can’t we, Kenny?” He smiled at Hutch.

“Okay, Hutch? That is, if you’re free.” Starsky was immediately sorry he’d added that last line. Now was not the time to get into _that_.

Hutch, however, jumped on it. “Oh, I’m free,” he retorted sarcastically. “Maybe we could make a few other dates now, too, as long as I’m checking my social calendar.”

Starsky pulled his keys from his pocket and fingered them. “Lunch tomorrow, then,” he said softly, not looking up. He edged toward the door. The room was silent. “I’ll be by in the morning, usual time.” He risked a glance at Hutch, who had his back to him. He looked over at Robert. Robert’s eyes were closed, and a faint smile played upon his lips.

“It’s good to see you, Bobby.” Starsky opened the door and stepped through. “Really good.”

Robert waggled a few fingers at him, but kept his eyes shut. Starsky closed the door and trudged down the stairs. It would take about half an hour to get home. Plenty of time to replay the evening. Plenty of time.

 

**Chapter Two**

 

Starsky stood in front of Hutch’s door and debated whether to use his key, tap on the door, or just go back down to the car and wait for Hutch. He was, after all, about 15 minutes early. And he was also leery of appearing over-eager to be in Robert’s company. But at the same time, he had as much right to see Robert as Hutch did. Maybe more. Starsky compromised. He tapped on the glass, then used his key.

Entering the apartment, he found Robert leaning against the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. The shower was running. Starsky guessed it would take Hutch ten minutes before he’d be ready to leave. He shut the door and walked over to Robert.

“Morning.” Starsky grinned and found himself a mug for coffee.

Robert sipped his brew. “Do you always just come in like that?”

“Like what?” Starsky poured himself a cup and set about looking for some sugar.

“Like this was your place, instead of his.” Robert had yet to actually look at Starsky. He continued to drink his coffee.

Starsky scrounged for white sugar, found a packet of artificial sweetener instead, and emptied it into his mug. He leaned back against the counter, next to Robert. “Hutch doesn’t mind. We ‘share and share alike’.”

Robert grunted and finished his coffee. He handed the empty cup to Starsky, who promptly refilled it. Robert took it back silently.

The shower stopped. Starsky and Robert watched the bathroom door expectantly, drinking their coffee. A minute passed, and Hutch emerged in a cloud of steam, a towel around his waist.

“Morning!” Starsky grinned again.

Hutch blinked at him in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Traffic was light,” Starsky explained. “Want some coffee?”

“Yeah—sure,” Hutch said. He padded over to the couch and began to strip the bedclothes off. He quickly folded the sheets and left them on the arm of the couch. Starsky brought him a cup of coffee, which Hutch took with him to the bedroom. Starsky followed him.

”Yes?” Hutch turned and looked at him.

Starsky smiled playfully. “I heard on the radio it’s supposed to be hot today.”

“So?” Hutch queried.

“So,” Starsky said, “dress light!” He grabbed at Hutch’s towel and pulled it off.

“Starsky!” Hutch made a grab for the towel, but it was whipped away too rapidly. Starsky threw it over his shoulder and sauntered back into the kitchen.

Vague and dirty rumblings carried over the room divider. Starsky ignored them and walked up to Robert.

“Coming in with us this morning?” He grasped the towel draped across his neck.

“That was witty repartee.” Robert pulled the towel from around Starsky’s neck. “You share this kind of stuff, too?” He shook the towel in Starsky’s face.

Starsky frowned at the towel, but ignored the question. “You coming?” he repeated.

Robert set his cup down and moved over to the couch. He sat down on top of the folded sheets. “No, I don’t think so. I think I’ll go diddybopping.” He winked conspiratorially.

Starsky grabbed the towel back. “Are you sure?” He was disappointed that Robert didn’t want to drive in with them but preferred to go out wandering on his own. He’d been looking forward to showing Robert the stationhouse.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Robert stretched his arms out along the sofa back. “I think I’ll check out the territory. Get a feel for the people. Maybe I’ll go in with you tomorrow.”

Starsky draped it over a chair back. “Whatever you want,” he acquiesced. “This is your vacation.”

Hutch came out of the bedroom. His hair was still damp, but he was dressed. “I’m ready. Let’s hit the streets.” He walked over to the sink, finished up the last few swallows in his coffee cup, and rinsed out the mug.

“Bobby’s not coming in with us,” Starsky almost pouted.

“So I heard.” Hutch picked up his jacket and shouldered into it. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Starsky snapped his fingers. “What about lunch?” he pointed to Robert.

Robert shook his head. “Better not count on me for lunch. I want plenty of time to get a look at what’s out there.”

Starsky frowned. “Hutch can leave you the keys to his car, and we could meet somewhere. Or we could pick you up, or—“

“Davey, what did I just say?” Robert leaned forward, blues eyes boring into Starsky.

Starsky straightened under the gaze. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow, huh?”

Robert shrugged and nodded. He eased back into the cushions.

“Ready?” Hutch’s tone was exasperated.

“Ready.” Starsky found his keys and followed Hutch out of the apartment. They thumped down the stairs arrhythmic ally and out to the car. The two men slid into the car, Hutch nearly squashing a paper bag in the process.

“That’s Danish.” Starsky put the car into gear and pulled into traffic. “I forgot to take it up with me. Want one?”

Hutch looked at the bag between them. “Yeah,” he decided, and pulled out a sticky pastry. Starsky glanced at him in surprise. “Good?”

Hutch took a bite and licked some fruit off his fingers. “Let’s run by Braverman’s Lot before we go in, huh?”

Starsky tapped the steering wheel. “We’ll be late.”

“I thought you said traffic was light.”

“We’ll just get run off the lot again. You’ve got no business there. And if Dobey finds out—“

“I also thought you were tired of desk duty and wanted to get out,” Hutch cut him off.

“I am,” Starsky mumbled.

Hutch shrugged and finished his Danish.

Starsky pulled up short at a stoplight he’d been unable to beat. He looked at Hutch. “How’d it go after I left last night?”

Hutch gazed out his window. “Okay, I guess. We just went to bed.”

“He asked me this morning if I always just let myself into your place.”

Hutch glanced sharply at Starsky. “What did you say?”

“I said you didn’t mind.”

Hutch moved his gaze to the traffic in front of them.

Starsky rubbed a finger over a dull spot in the vinyl seat cover. “It’s not easy, is it? I’ve been looking forward to his visit for weeks, but now that he’s here I’m kind of scared.”

“It’s green,” Hutch pointed at the light.

Starsky drove three blocks before speaking again. “Seventeen years,” he said. “That’s a lifetime.”

“I had him dead and buried,” Hutch spoke so softly Starsky could barely hear him over the street noise. “He was a memory. A ghost. He was _gone_. Hell, ever since I came out here I’ve told people I don’t have a brother. And now, all of a sudden, here he is.”

“We’ve known he was alive for a couple of years now.”

Hutch turned toward Starsky. “And we’re supposed to just forget all the grieving and pick up right where we left off? Change our whole way of thinking?” He slashed at the air with his hand. “Change our whole way of life?”

“Hey!” Starsky made his own stab at the air. “He doesn’t expect that!”

Hutch turned back toward the window, ignoring Starsky. Starsky gripped the wheel in frustration, turning his knuckles white. He was tiring of unfinished arguments and the sullen manner with which Hutch met all dissent. They finished the drive to Braverman’s Lot in silence.

Braverman’s Lot was a huge used car lot, aglitter with silver flags flashing in the sun. Row upon row of used cars radiated from the showroom located at the center of the lot. It was cleverly arranged so that the rows of cars appeared to be spokes in a wheel when viewed from the sky, a common shot in all of Braverman’s commercials.

Starsky maneuvered between rows of cars until he spotted what they had come for. A young man, slim but not particularly tall, was gesturing at a green LTD in a very meaningful manner. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a new shirt, accented by a yellow tie knotted loosely at his throat. Fine, black, limp hair hung over his collar.

Starsky brought the car to a quiet stop. They waited a few minutes until the mechanic the young man had been flailing at left, then Hutch got out. Starsky remained behind, choosing to watch his partner play out his game. He rolled his window down to be sure and catch the exchange.

Hutch walked up behind the boy and leaned against a nearby car. “Car trouble, Junior?” he asked.

The boy spun around and looked at Hutch with menace. He leaned sideways to peer at Starsky, who waved at him. He straightened and glared at Hutch, his body tensed.

“I thought my father told you to stay off his lot or he’d get a restraining order.”

Hutch folded his arms across his chest. “This isn’t pleasure, this is business. I’m in the market for a new hunk of junk.”

The boy snorted. He looked Hutch square in the eye. “Why don’t you take your business elsewhere?” There was arrogance in his voice, and Starsky caught the smile that crept over his face even at this distance.

Hutch shifted his weight suddenly, startling the boy. He took a hasty step backward, as if he thought Hutch had meant to come at him. Realizing this wasn’t the case, he quickly regained his position and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Your business is my business,” Hutch said. “I told you I was going to check up on you, Junior. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you before the trial.” Hutch removed his sunglasses and inspected them for dirt. “I want you in perfect condition when you go up for Mustin’s murder.”

“Ha!” The boy crossed his arms defiantly. “My lawyer says all you have is circumstantial evidence, and that’s not enough to convict me. You’re going to fall flat on your face in that courtroom.”

Hutch put his glasses back on, and stood up to let his full height tower over the boy.

“I wouldn’t count on that, Junior.”

Starsky smiled to himself at the dramatic quality of Hutch’s taunting. Hutch was a consummate actor when it came to his work. Always had been, always would be. Starsky’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror in time to see the elder Braverman stomping toward them. He gave a brief toot on the horn to attract Hutch’s attention and started the engine.

Hutch looked to Starsky, then spotted Braverman. He casually brushed some dirt off his jacket sleeve. “With my testimony, you stand a good chance of leaving this Pinto Paradise for a long time.” He took a few steps toward the car, then turned back toward the boy. “I’ll see you in court, Junior.”

Starsky rolled the car up to Hutch. Hutch got in. The boy walked up to the window.

“Maybe. Maybe not. One of us just might not need to show up.”

Hutch eyes the boy, a slight frown creasing his brow. Starsky judged the distance between the car and the man coming toward them in the mirror to be too close and hit the accelerator. Tires squealed as he pulled into traffic.

“Dramatic exit, huh?” Hutch asked.

“You’re calling _me_ dramatic?” Starsky asked back. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Feel better?”

Hutch looked off toward the horizon. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” He let his head fall back against the seat. “The kid is guilty, Starsk. I’m as certain he murdered his supplier as I am my name is Hutchinson. The only reason we can’t nail him outright is because his father can afford a hot-shot lawyer who knows every trick in the book.”

Or maybe it’s because all they really have is your testimony,” Starsky replied, without looking at Hutch.

“So?” Hutch brought his head up and turned toward Starsky. “Are you implying my word is no good?” Are you implying I don’t know what I saw?” Hutch gripped the dashboard tightly.

“I’m not implying anything,” Starsky glanced at Hutch. “All I’m saying is, you said it was dark, and you thought you might have heard another person running from the building. That’s all I’m saying.”

Hutch shoved a finger in Starsky’s face. “I saw Braverman run out of the building.” Two fingers were in Starsky’s face. “He was covered in blood and brains and the lab said they came from Mustin.” The fingers disappeared. “Just because the gun they found doesn’t have Braverman’s fingerprints all over it doesn’t mean he didn’t fire it.” Satisfied with his defense, Hutch settled back into the seat.

“Doesn’t mean he did,” Starsky mumbled.

“What?” Hutch jerked his head toward Starsky.

Starsky picked up the bag and handed it to Hutch. “Have another Danish.”

Hutch took the bag and dug out another pastry. Starsky watched him with concern. For Hutch to eat anything Starsky offered was a rarity, for him to eat two of anything was unheard of. He tried to cool down the conversation.

“Well, you’ll get your day in court,” he soothed. “Besides, he’s only a four-bit punk who zapped his two-bit supplier, and his case is not worth worrying about.”

Hutch stopped in mid-bite and lowered his Danish. “Is that a professional or a personal opinion?” Hutch asked. “Or do I detect a hint of jealousy over my even having cases?”

Starsky bristled under the accusation, but remained silent. Hutch lifted his pastry and finished it.

 

vvv

 

Dobey was waiting for them back at the station.

“That’s it, Hutchinson,” he bellowed from across his desk. “You’re finished harassing Braverman. I am not putting up with this kind of behavior from one of my senior officers.”

Starsky sat opposite Dobey, next to Hutch, his hands folded in his lap. Hutch’s hands gripped the chair arms. His eyes were focused on Dobey’s desk, refusing to look at the man. Starsky looked from Hutch, then to Dobey, then to the tips of his shoes.

“Cap,” he tried.

“And you—“ yelled Dobey, “—overstepped your authority by driving him there! You are assigned to desk duty, Officer Starsky! That means you stay at the desk until you are told to leave it! That does not mean you are free to make runs with Officer Hutchinson whenever you feel like it! Do I make myself clear?”

Starsky was sullen, and still staring at his shoes. “Yes sir.”

“What was that?” Dobey demanded.

Starsky straightened in his chair and looked at Dobey. “Yes sir!”

“All right. Hutchinson, I want to hear some kind of explanation.” Dobey swiveled his chair toward Hutch. “Now.”

Hutch shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t have one.”

Dobey stood up and walked around his desk, stopping in front of Hutch. Starsky kept his face forward but his eyes followed Dobey.

Dobey towered over Hutch. “Look at me, Hutchinson. Look.”

Hutch lifted his face to find two black, hard eyes piercing him.

“I don’t need your kind of behavior. I’ve got enough problems with my men without you playing cowboy on me.” Dobey’s voice was rough and gravelly, and sweat was beginning to trickle down his face.

“And I’m not talking about the Braverman case,” he continued. “I’m talking about your casework for the last ten months. You’ve played fast and loose with departmental rules and regulations for far too long, and I won’t have it anymore. You either learn to play the game the way I say, or you find yourself another game to play.” Dobey paused to take a deep breath. “Do I make myself clear?”

The room was stone-still. No one moved. “Yes sir,” Hutch finally broke the silence.

“The same goes for you, too, Starsky.” Dobey returned to his chair and seated himself, “And if you don’t understand it, then have Hutchinson explain it to you. By the way, Hutchinson,” Dobey’s attention returned to Hutch, “you’re off the Navarro case. If my words don’t mean anything to you, then maybe my actions will. I’m reducing your caseload until I see signs of improvement. Dismissed.” Dobey picked up a folder from his desk and began perusing it, signaling the end of his tirade.

Starsky suddenly shot up from his chair. He started to speak, but Hutch had grabbed his arm and was pulling him back. Their eyes met. Hutch dropped his gaze and his grip, and fled the office. Starsky followed him into the corridor.

“What the hell was that?” Starsky corralled Hutch in the corner. “Dobey wasn’t just mad, he was hysterical.”

Hutch ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You don’t know?” Starsky pushed. He took a step closer to Hutch, their bodies almost touching. Starsky could still smell the soap from Hutch’s shower. “That tirade wasn’t just about the Braverman kid. There was a hell of a lot more to it than that. Or else our own sweet Captain Dobey is having a breakdown in front of our eyes.”

“I don’t _know,_ ” Hutch repeated. He tried to shove past Starsky.

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s arm and pushed him back into the corner. “Like hell you don’t. He was mad enough to take us off the Navarro case. Something must have stuck in his craw.”

“‘Us’?” Hutch pulled back viciously. “Took ‘us’ off the case? Don’t you mean ‘me’? You were never assigned to that case. Just me. _Just_ me.” Hutch glared at Starsky.

Starsky backed off. “What’s wrong with you?” Hurt and confusion were impossible to hide any longer. He reached out to touch Hutch’s shoulder, hungry for the physical contact that had lately been almost— _almost_ —non-existent.

Hutch shrugged the hand off. “You’d better get to your desk,” he spat. “I’ve got work to do.”

Starsky’s hand remained suspended in mid-air. He stepped aside and allowed Hutch to stomp back to the squad room. His hand finally fell to his side, and he walked quietly down the corridor.

 

vvv

 

Starsky paused by the squad room window before entering the room. He watched his partner carefully, noting the slumped shoulders and bowed head as Hutch read through a report. He had noticed that about Hutch in the past few weeks, a stoop to his posture, a weariness, as if it required too much energy to fight gravity. This morning there had been almost no tan line when he’d taken the towel from Hutch. And he’d also spotted a belly that would have done a couch potato proud. But it wasn’t just the physical changes that bothered Starsky. What nagged at him most was that he couldn’t remember the last time they’d gone anywhere together that wasn’t prescribed by duty, responsibility, or prior commitment.

He tapped on the glass, catching another officer’s attention. The officer said something to Hutch, and Hutch turned to look up at Starsky. Starsky lifted an eyebrow and waved his hand in greeting. Hutch stared at him, then motioned almost imperceptibly for Starsky to come in. Starsky nodded and walked into the room.

Hutch watched him as he took the seat across the table. Starsky thought he caught a flash of something close to fear in his eyes, but before he could confirm it Hutch dropped his head to study his report.

“It’s just about check-out time,” Starsky said. “Are you ready?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hutch took a deep breath and began shuffling the papers around him. He evened up a couple of stacks, then ran a hand through his hair. “I guess that’ll do until tomorrow.” He was still looking around the table.

Starsky watched him fiddle with the papers. “I was thinking maybe we could take Bobby to dinner tonight.”

Hutch nodded, pulling his jacket from the back of the chair and sliding into it. He had yet to look at Starsky.

Starsky pushed himself up and fished keys out of his pocket. He waited for Hutch to move toward the door. Hutch didn’t. He was looking at the floor, a fist resting on the table.

“Starsk—“

“It’s okay,” Starsky interrupted hastily. He suddenly felt a great need to forestall any kind of mention of what was going on between them.

“No,” Hutch shook his head. “I wasn’t going to apologize.”

“It’s still okay,” Starsky insisted. “Let’s take off.”

Hutch jerked his head up to face Starsky. Irritation shone in his eyes. “I wasn’t going to explain, either.”

Starsky leaned over the table, irritated with himself that he’d misread Hutch’s intentions. This time he was sure he knew what Hutch was talking about. “You don’t have to explain. I know what it is.” He peeked at a nearby officer and lowered his voice. “It’s Bobby. It’s tough for you to see him again after all these years, and I understand. It’s tough for me, too.” He smiled sheepishly at his confession. “Now let’s go home.”

Hutch watched him angrily for a moment, then zipped his jacket and stood up. “Yeah, sure.” He scrubbed a hand over his chin.

Starsky tossed his keys up and caught them, leading the way to the door. He held it open for Hutch, waiting.

A phone rang in the squad room, and the officer answered it. “It’s for you, Hutch,” he announced, just as Hutch was about to step through the door.

Hutch looked at Starsky, who was frowning at the phone. “I’m gone,” he decided, and passed through the door. Starsky smiled and walked after him.

“Might’ve been your mysterious dinner partner,” Starsky prodded.

“Might not’ve,” Hutch answered. He quickened his pace and turned the corner, leaving Starsky behind.

 

**Chapter Three**

 

The ride to Hutch’s apartment was made in all-too familiar silence. Starsky, however, was determined to raise the mood in the car. He hummed along with the radio, singing when he knew a line or chorus, making up suggestive verses when he didn’t. None of it seemed to make any kind of impression on Hutch, so he amused himself.

Starsky pulled up to Hutch’s curb just as his own particularly naughty version of an old Carpenters tune was dissolving into a commercial. They both exited the car, their doors shutting in unison. Starsky laughed at the coincidence, but Hutch took no notice. Starsky followed him up to the apartment, still singing.

Hutch pulled a key from his pocket as they reached the landing, and attempted to insert it into the lock. As he did, the door swung open. Hutch stood in the doorway, unmoving.

“Robert?” he called out. There was no answer.

Starsky walked forward. Hutch cut him off and stepped into the apartment first. “Robert!” he called sharply.

The apartment was as dark as it was empty. Starsky flipped on a light and came up behind Hutch. “Looks like nobody’s home.”

Hutch continued to stand where he was, scanning the apartment. Starsky stood next to him, hands in pockets, waiting for Hutch to finished his visual sweep.

An arm snaked around Starsky’s waist and lifted him off the ground. Starsky grabbed at the arms that held and swung him around, almost knocking Hutch over as his feet kicked out. Hutch stumbled back and reached into his jacket, then froze in his half-crouch.

“Damn, man,” a voice spoke in Starsky’s ear. “When did you get so lax? Have you forgotten how to use your ears?” The arms gave Starsky a squeeze.

Starsky relaxed and loosened his own grip. “Damn yourself, Bobby.” He looked at Hutch. Hutch was sliding his gun back into its holster, eyes averted, a sheen of sweat on his face.

“Give,” Starsky patted Robert’s arms and tried to part them. The arms only squeezed tighter. “C’mon, Bobby,” Starsky repeated. “Uncle, all right?”

“‘Uncle’?” Robert jerked inward and Starsky gasped. “‘Uncle’?”

“Let him go,” Hutch suddenly demanded. His eyes glittered at Robert.

“‘Uncle’?” Robert whispered in Starsky’s ear.

Starsky tried to find his breath. “ _Chu hoi,”_ he whispered back.

Robert released him and Starsky took an unsteady step forward. He rubbed at his ribs and took several deep breaths.

Robert ambled over to the couch and flopped down. He smiled up at Starsky.

Starsky’s pulse slowed and he found his voice. “Where’ve you been?” He walked over and sat down next to Robert.

“Out,” he answered. “Around.” He leaned back and stretched his arms out.

Hutch slipped out of his jacket and hung it up. “You left my apartment unlocked,” he accused softly.

“What was that?” Robert retorted. “Did you say something?”

Hutch spun and glared at Robert. “You left my door unlocked.”

Robert pulled a pillow to his chest and hugged it tightly. “Is that a homecoming, or is that a homecoming.” He winked at Starsky. “How do you feel about homecomings?”

Starsky didn’t answer.

The phone rang.

Hutch stepped over to the table and picked up the receiver. As he spoke, he picked up the phone and carried it back into the bedroom. The divider muffled the conversation. Robert turned to Starsky and grabbed at his thigh playfully.

“Bad day at the office, dear?” he asked sarcastically.

Starsky glanced down at him, then over to the divider which shielded Hutch. “Yeah,” he replied. “Pretty rough.”

“Must’ve been for him to pull his Mr. Righteous routine.” Robert threw the pillow to the end of the couch. ”Well, don’t let him bother you. A nice hot dinner and a nice hot shower will make you feel all better.” He grinned at Starsky.

Starsky shook his head, but returned the grin shyly. Hutch came back into the room.

“Who was it?” Robert asked.

Hutch ignored him.

“Must’ve been a girl,” Robert mused. “You could always tell when a girl called him at home because he’d never talk to you after he’d hung up.”

The grin was growing on Starsky’s face. Hutch’s face reddened.

“How about some dinner?” Starsky slapped his knees. “I have a taste for corned beef ala Michael’s.”

“Corned beef ala Michael’s,” Robert chimed in. “Who’s Michael?”

Hutch picked up his jacket and put it back on. “Can’t,” he said. “I have to go out.”

“Where?” Starsky was on his feet. “Another dinner date?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Hutch replied. He started for the door.

Starsky stood in his way. “With this same, anonymous person you’ve been seeing for the past month?”

Robert sat forward. “Kenny really does have a girl?” A salacious grin spread across his face. “Why, I’m shocked and bemused!”

A disgusted look from Hutch was Robert’s answer. “Lock the door if you go out.” He gave a hard stare to Starsky, then walked around him and left the apartment. Starsky stared after him as the door slammed shut.

”Forget him,” Robert came around and stood in front of Starsky. “It’s his loss, not ours.”

Starsky continued to stare past Robert. Robert took Starsky’s chin in his hand and forced him to meet his eyes. His grip was painful and Starsky tried twisting out of it. Robert held fast.

“What gives?” Bobby asked. His eyes narrowed. “Is he messing with you?”

Starsky shook his head.

“Tell me,” Robert commanded. “Is he _messing_ with you?”

Starsky squared his shoulders. “No,” he said. But he wasn’t so sure.

Robert released him.

“The evening’s mine, then.” It was almost an order. “To Michael’s.”

“To Michael’s,” Starsky agreed quietly.

 

 

“Oh, babe,” Robert leaned against the porch railing. He rubbed his stomach. “Your eating habits are worse than I remembered. I may never recover from those monsters.”

Starsky unlocked his front door and ushered Robert in. He shut the door behind them and switched on a lamp, casting fuzzy gray shadows on the wall. Robert stood in the middle of the room, examining the surroundings. Starsky walked around him to the refrigerator and opened the door.

“Want a beer?” he called from inside.

“Do I want a beer?” Robert repeated. “Do _I_ want a beer?”

“The man wants a beer!” Starsky stood up with four cans in his hands. He slued a hip to shove the door shut and returned to the living room.

“Here you go,” Starsky handed Robert two of the cans. Robert fumbled with the pop top on one of them.

“Can’t get used to these new tops,” he laughed self-consciously. He finally got the can opened and he took a sip. “Nice place,” he observed.

Starsky set his beers down and removed his jacket. “It’s home.”

“Nice piece,” Robert added.

Starsky touched his gun before slipping the holster from his shoulders. “It does its job, I guess. Does it bother you?”

“Why should it bother me?” Robert cocked his head.

Starsky wrapped the leather around the gun and tossed it on top of a pile of magazines on the table. The gun hit the magazines and slid off, bringing the pile down on top of it. Starsky moved to pick it up, hesitated, then shrugged and picked up a beer. “Who cares, huh?”

Robert lifted his can in a toast. “Who cares!” He began a circuit of the apartment. “I don’t know. It’s hard to picture you civilized.” He drank from the can. “Looks as if you have all the necessary equipment for basic civilian life. Air conditioning, TV, clean clothes. I’ll bet you’ve even got TP with little designs on it.” Robert disappeared into the bathroom. “You do!” he roared. He came back to the living room, laughing.

Starsky slid down onto the couch with an air of embarrassment.

Robert lowered himself onto the floor by Starsky’s feet and sat cross-legged. He concentrated on another beer for the next few minutes, finishing his second and reaching for Starsky’s other can as his third.

“Davey, Davey,” he twisted his neck and eyed Starsky. “Lord, you look like a vision.”

“Me?” Starsky asked, incredulous. “You aren’t looking hard enough.” Starsky tipped his can and took a mouthful of beer. “A vision of what?”

“I don’t know,” Robert’s eyes finally released Starsky. “You just look so damn good. Different, but good.”

Starsky shifted to a more comfortable position. “Different?”

Robert leaned back against the couch. “Yeah. You know, longer hair, older…cleaner.”

Starsky laughed. “Yeah, well….” He let the thought trail off.

Robert stood up. “How about another beer?” He headed for the refrigerator.

“I’m not finished with this one.” Starsky held up his can as proof.

“You will be.” Robert rummaged through the refrigerator and came out with two more cans in one hand and a six-pack clutched to his chest. He brought his cache back to his spot on the floor and arranged the beers around himself.

“Down here,” Robert pounded the floor. Starsky slid off the sofa and leaned against it, legs outstretched. Robert handed him a can.

“Question: ” Robert popped another top. “What was the first thing you did when you got back?”

Starsky rolled the can between his hands. He skirted the edges of memory, gathered his courage, and plunged in. “Back, or out?”

“Out.”

Starsky let his head roll back against the sofa. “I stayed in the bathroom for a week.” He paused. “Then I stayed in the bedroom for two weeks, and then I gradually worked my way downstairs and out onto the stoop.”

“You went home to New York, then.”

“Had to see Ma. And Nick,” Starsky added. His head lifted as he opened the beer. “And I needed to see how many of the old gang were still around. There weren’t many.”

Robert was playing with the cans around him, lining them up in different formations. “How soon before you got back to L.A.?” he concentrated on the cans.

Starsky thought a moment. “A couple or six months, I guess. Time went kind of funny back then.”

“Time will do that to you,” Robert said softly.

Starsky looked over at him. “What was the first thing you did?”

“Un uh,” Robert knocked over an empty can with a full one, sending it rolling under the end table. “I’m asking the questions tonight.”

Starsky sipped his beer. “After I got home to L.A., I found myself this dump of a place to live in and decided I’d better find some way to pay for it. So, I got this job cleaning out a beer joint from two in the morning ‘til six. Hey!” he snapped his fingers. “I’ll have to introduce you to this dude I met there. He used to hustle cards in the back room. Now he owns his own place and—“

“What about Kenny?” Robert interrupted.

“Hutch?” Starsky set his beer down. “I don’t know. I guess Hutch came in a couple of months after that. One day I was walking around Venice, and I remembered you’d said that’s where he lived. So I found a phone booth with a book still in it and looked him up.”

Robert stopped playing with the cans and folded his arms across his chest. He stared straight ahead, his face a mask. “You just went up to his front door and knocked?”

“Yeah,” Starsky grinned. “You should’ve seen the look on his face when he opened the door. He thought I was either begging, high, or crazy.”

Robert didn’t move. “He let you in?”

“Yeah,” Starsky was lost in thought. “He let me in, and we talked all afternoon. I don’t know why, but he did.” He lifted the beer and took a long drink.

“Did you talk about me?” Robert turned his head to watch Starsky.

Starsky rested the can on his thigh. “A little, I think.” His brows knitted in concentration. “I don’t really remember. Guess we’ll have to ask Hutch about that.”

“Maybe we can also ask him why he told people he didn’t have a brother.”

Starsky shifted. “You were kia, not mia,” Starsky said. “And he never told people he _never_ had a brother, he told people he _didn’t_ have a brother.”

“Yeah, sure.” Robert unfolded his body until he, too, was leaning against the sofa with his legs out in front of him. A sound caught in his throat, and then he spoke. “Vanessa was around?”

“Oh, yeah,” Starsky sighed. He twisted the can into his thigh, feeling the circular mark it was branding onto his skin. “She did not like me at all. I always got the feeling she thought of me as something a little lower than a cockroach. So I pretty much stayed away from her.” An image of Vanessa came to him: long, dark hair straight and shiny, one of Hutch’s white cotton shirts knotted at her midriff, cutoffs that had to have come from jeans a size too small, and lithe, brown legs that took forever to reach the ground. He raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly. “I really used to get under her skin, you know. When she was around and Hutch wasn’t looking, I’d get as close to her as I could, until she could smell me. I’d get her so hot she had to either bite or run. She was a real bi—“ Another image suddenly presented itself, that of a much-fingered photo of Vanessa, carried through mud and rain and other things he didn’t care to name. “I’m sorry,” Starsky said softly.

Robert had wrapped his arms around himself and his eyes were tightly closed.

“Bobby?” Starsky ventured.

Robert took a deep breath. “S’okay,” he murmured. He opened his eyes. “I lost her because I wasn’t around, he got her because he was. All’s fair, as they say.”

“Some fair,” Starsky was going to put things into perspective. “All she ever wanted was the Hutchinson name and fortune, and she didn’t care who gave it to her.”

“Stop it!” Robert hissed, grabbing Starsky’s leg, then releasing it with a vicious jerk. “You will not talk about her that way!”

Starsky lowered his head and refrained from rubbing his leg.

“He should have taken better care of her,” Robert’s face was stony. “She needed to be loved and protected, wrapped in furs and silk. She should have had better.” Robert took a long draw on his beer. “ _I_ wouldn’t have deserted her.”

Starsky frowned at Robert. “ _She_ left _him_ , man. I don’t know what you heard, but she found herself someone she could make better use of and fucking walked!”

Robert stared icily at Starsky. “He drove her away.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Starsky defended. “Hutch was—“

Robert cut him off with a wave of his hand.

Starsky looked away, a flush searing his body.

Robert drank from his can. “When are Americans going to learn to make beer like Germans? Damn tasteless stuff.” He took another swallow.

Starsky watched him drain the can. Robert belched and dropped the can into his pile of empties. “I want to hear about life as a cop.”

Starsky sat quietly, fists pressed into the floor, arms stiff at his sides. “Not much to tell,” he said steadily. “Really, not much to tell.”

Robert opened another can and tipped it toward Starsky. “Well, babe, it sounds as if you’ve had a wonderful post-war life.” He reached over and tapped both of Starsky’s shoulders. “I dub thee well-adjusted, whole and normal.”

A bitter laugh escaped from Starsky. He shook his head, but said nothing. He kept seeing rolls of gaily colored toilet paper marching in front of him. Minutes passed before he spoke.

“Bobby?” he voice was barely audible. “What was it—was it bad?”

Robert thought a moment. “That depends,” he said evenly. Too evenly. “What is your definition of bad? If you like shit for food, food that’s worth shit, or if you get your kicks out of being bent into different shapes, then it was the Left Bank.” He scrounged among the cans until he found a full one. “Want another beer?”

Starsky looked at him in amazement. “No, I don’t want another beer. I want to _know_.” A tremor ran through his left arm.

“I want another beer,” Robert said matter-of-factly.

“Bobby,” Starsky pleaded. “It helps to talk. It _does._ ”

Robert set his beer down carefully. He looked at Starsky. “What do you want, Davey? To compare my story to the others we heard? Relieve your conscience that it wasn’t as bad as you imagined? Assuage your own guilt?”

Starsky let his head drop to his chest. Another tremor ran up his arm. “We were always able to talk,” he said softly. “About _anything._ I just wanted--”

“I know what you wanted,” Robert still spoke in controlled, measured tones. “Don’t you know yet you don’t always get what you want?”

Starsky didn’t answer. A third tremor took him, and he finally unstiffened his arms. As he shifted positions, he suddenly grunted and clutched at his shoulder. Robert jumped from among his cans and crouched at Starsky’s side.

“What’s the matter, babe?” Robert’s voice had suddenly turned young and concerned. He rubbed at the knuckles Starsky was using to grip his aching shoulder.

“Nothing,” Starsky said through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath, released it, and relaxed back into the sofa. His hand remained under Robert’s. “It’s okay now.”

“Don’t tell me nothing, boy.” Robert dislodged Starsky’s hand and felt the shoulder. Starsky winced under the pressure.

“It’s just a cramp. Happens when I keep my arm in one position too long. All it needs is a good massage.” Robert rubbed the area and Starsky relaxed into it. “Hutch usually takes care of it.” Starsky was immediately sorry he’d imparted this bit of information.

“But he’s not as good as I am.” Robert began methodically massaging the flesh. “Turn around,” he directed. Starsky slid around, and Robert kneaded the affected area. “Better?”

“A little,” Starsky answered. “Damn arm hasn’t worked right in years. Ouch!” he winced.

“This would be easier if you took off your shirt. And if I had some oil.”

“There’s a bottle in the medicine cabinet,” Starsky began unbuttoning his shirt.

“This happen often?” Robert rose and walked into the bathroom.

“Too often,” Starsky muttered. He slid gingerly out of his shirt and waited for Robert.

“All right.” Robert returned with the bottle. He sat down behind Starsky, his legs spread, Starsky sitting between them. Robert poured some liquid into his hand. “Let’s see if we can’t work out some of the kinks. Or at least the bad ones.” He slid his slippery hands around Starsky’s shoulder, encircling Starsky’s upper arm and squeezing gently, sliding the circle of his hands down Starsky’s arm and up again, then bringing sure fingers up to knead Starsky’s nape. Robert replicated his routine down Starsky’s other shoulder and arm, this time taking his hands up Starsky’s sides, thumbs pressing into hard Starsky’s back. Starsky groaned.

Robert flattened his palms against Starsky’s back, painting it with oil. Robert worked his way down slowly, stopping midway as he felt the ridges of scar tissue.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded. Robert’s fingers traced the ridges of scar tissue. “I don’t remember these. You didn’t get these over there, not even when they shot the radio off your back.”

Starsky arched his back as Robert hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Souvenirs of a different war,” he answered quietly.

Robert let his hand drop from Starsky’s back. He snaked an arm over Starsky’s right shoulder and across his chest and pulled him back into a protective embrace.

“How?” he whispered in Starsky’s ear.

Starsky patted the hand that held him just under his left rib cage. “It’s all right,” he forced a laugh. “Somebody just wanted me and Hutch out of the way.”

The arm around him tightened. “Really.” Starsky brought both hands up, one atop Robert’s hand, the other gripping his forearm. “It’s past. It’s all over and everything’s fine.”

Robert’s other hand began to read Starsky’s chest. He touched a vertical scar, then withdrew his hand. “Someone did this to you?”

Starsky misinterpreted the question. He squeezed Robert’s arm comfortingly. “No, just me. Hutch is fine. We were caught off guard, ambushed. But they didn’t touch him, thank God.” He felt the need to diminish the severity of the incident. “Bobby, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about what seeing these scars might bring up.” He lifted a hand to reach back and touch Robert’s cheek.

Robert suddenly pushed him away. Robert was in a low crouch, balancing on his toes. Starsky shifted to a cross-legged position, facing Robert.

“Kenny let this happen to you?” Robert’s eyes became slits. He let them put scars like that on you? He let them kill—“ Robert was on his feet. “You want to see some scars? He pulled his shirt over his head. Lines criss-crossed his chest. Robert ran his fingers around the pale flesh in an obviously ritualistic way.

Starsky froze for a moment, overwhelmed by sheer number of wounds. Then he looked down at his chest. Suddenly, his past adversities seemed very small and inconsequential. He touched his own scars. “Some history, huh?”

Robert’s hand dropped limply to his side. “I need to sleep,” he said flatly. The shirt dropped from his fingers.

Starsky stood up. “I’ll get you some towels and show you where everything is.” He started to walk past Robert, but Robert grabbed his arm. They looked at each other.

“I love you,” Starsky said simply. He blinked to hold back the tears suddenly blurring his gaze.

Robert dropped Starsky’s arm. He turned and walked toward the bathroom.

 

**Chapter Four**

 

Starsky grabbed the first shirt that presented itself and wriggled into it. He buttoned the front, skipped the cuffs, but tucked in the tail as he made his way from the closet to the living room. The shower was running.

“Rough night?” a voice inquired.

Starsky started and bumped into the bookcase. “Damn! You scared the beejeezus out of me!”

Hutch was sitting in the wicker chair. Strewn around the floor were magazines, clothes, sheets, and towels. A pyramid of beer cans graced the center of the room. Hutch kicked at the edge of the mess with a foot. “I wouldn’t have startled you if your door had been chained.”

Starsky regained his composure and finished tucking in his shirt. “Did you ever hear of knocking?” He picked his way to the kitchen and filled the teakettle with water.

Hutch waited until he’d set the kettle on the burner. “You don’t have time for that this morning.” He stood up. “We’re late as it is.”

Starsky lifted the kettle off the stove and set it on the counter with a loud bang. “I tried to call you and let you know I was running late. You must have already left.”

“I must have.” Hutch picked up a jacket lying at the foot of the couch and tossed it to Starsky. Starsky caught it with one hand and went to fish out his holster from under the magazines.

“Where’s the coffee?” Robert stumbled out of the bedroom, a robe wrapped around him. He focused on Hutch, and sat down in the chair Hutch had just vacated. “Did you miss me last night, baby brother?” He pointed a finger at Hutch. “We locked the door when we left your place.”

Hutch looked at Robert, then at Starsky. Starsky shouldered into his holster, his eyes locked to Hutch’s.

“You’re an adult,” Hutch said. “You can sleep wherever you want to.” He paused for effect. “Or wherever they’ll have you.”

“Oh ho!” Robert opened his eyes wide in feigned amazement. “Is that a hint?”

“Cut it out,” Starsky warned. He finally turned from Hutch. “I thought we were late.”

Hutch pulled keys from his pocket, walked to the door, and opened it. Starsky put on his jacket and started to follow.

“What about my coffee?” Robert asked

Starsky stopped and looked back at the kitchen. He thought a second, then turned back. “I’ll put the water on for you and leave the jar out.”

“Not instant,” Robert scowled. “That stuff tastes like watery manure.”

“That’s all I’ve got,” Starsky stopped, exasperated.

“We’re late,” Hutch interrupted. He was standing just outside the door.

Starsky sighed. “Okay, we’re late.” He pivoted and started for the door.

“If instant is all you’ve got, then I guess it’ll have to do.” Robert leaned into the fanback and closed his eyes. “But get some fresh-ground.”

Starsky glared at Robert, then at Hutch, and swore under his breath. He felt as if here were the flag tied to the middle of the tug-o-war rope. He tromped to the kitchen, set the kettle back on the burner, and pulled a jar of coffee from the cabinet. He slammed it on the counter, whirled, and stomped out of the apartment. His footsteps resounded on the stairs. Behind him he heard Hutch slam the front door.

Starsky threw himself into the car and waited for Hutch, elbow on the window frame, fingers tapping hard against the car door. Hutch jerked his door open with such force it rebounded and shut only a second after Hutch had jumped in. Hutch forced the key into the ignition and switched on the engine. He started to shift gears when Starsky suddenly reached out and stopped him.

“I want to take care of this now,” he demanded.

Hutch didn’t move. “Forget it.”

Starsky kept his hand tightly wrapped around Hutch’s. It felt angular, bony, hard. “What you mean is, you want to stew over it and nurse it to a good, healthy grudge.”

Hutch jerked down on the gear shift, dumping Starsky’s hand and sending the car into a lurch.

“Starsky drew back his hand. It tingled as if it burned. “Is today going to be like yesterday? Because if it is, I’d like to know.”

“I don’t know,” Hutch answered with an irritating calm. He was doing his best to appear preoccupied with the traffic. “How was yesterday?”

“Yesterday was lousy.” Starsky’s words were clipped and harsh. “And it was lousy because of your lousy attitude.” He crossed his arms and slid down into the seat, glaring at the traffic ahead.

“I don’t know why my attitude should affect you,” Hutch persisted with the same annoying tone of voice. He never looked at Starsky, but continued to examine every car, pedestrian, and sign they drove past. “I wasn’t around you for more than an hour. And you got to spend an exciting evening with your old army buddy. I would think that alone would have made the day worthwhile.”

“Okay,” Starsky slid around to face Hutch. “So that’s what’s bugging you! I’m sorry we didn’t call and let you know Bobby was going to spend the night with me. We just got to talking about things, time got away from us, and it was easier for Bobby to crash at my place than to drive him back to yours.”

“’Things’,” Hutch pounced on the word. “You mean, _war_ things. Things I wouldn’t understand.”

“What did you expect we’d talk about?” Starsky asked indignantly. “Dammit, Hutch! I spent my time over there attached to him as if there was an umbilical cord between us. We were tight! We had to be! Yeah, we talked about ‘Nam! There are things we shared—“

“That I wouldn’t understand!” Hutch exploded.

“Yes! No!” Starsky threw up his hands and fell back against the seat. “Sometimes you can talk about things with one person that you can’t with another! We shared things, Hutch! We talked about them! So what?” Starsky shouted.

“So how come you never talk about it with me?” Hutch yelled back.

Starsky hopped back on the edge of the seat, glowering at Hutch. “Because you never want to talk about _me_! All you want to talk about is history and strategies and generalities! You‘d rather talk about whether the body counts were right instead of what it was like to have the guy standing next to you suddenly become one!” Starsky slammed back into the seat, then just as suddenly jumped back to the edge. “When _you’re_ capable of talking about it, we’ll talk! When _you_ can handle it, we’ll talk! If Bobby wants to talk to you about it, he will! But first you have to be home!” Starsky spat out the last sentence, intending to wound. Satisfied he’d done so, he settled into the seat.

Hutch’s jaw jutted out with the force of his clenched teeth. Knuckles whitened as he squeezed the steering wheel. Starsky noted the posture he’d produced, and slid closer to the door to catch the breeze from the window. He tilted his head to let it cool his face, shutting his eyes. He didn’t feel well. He had an idea that their fight had been more smoke screen than truth, and the root cause of their friction had yet to be uncovered. Starsky didn’t know what that root cause was, but whatever it was it felt like a black lump in the pit of his stomach. He sucked in the air through his nostrils and held it, letting it out slowly.

The remainder of the ride to work was made in silence.

 

 

And the rest of the work day was spent in silence.

Starsky’s car was parked a block away from the bar. Hutch cruised by it, pulling up in front of the entrance. He shifted into neutral, keeping his foot on the brake. A car paused behind him, then slowly pulled around and drove on.

“You can come, you know.”

“Dammit!” Hutch slammed a palm into the steering wheel. “Stop asking me already!”

Starsky pulled on the door handle, but kept the door from swinging open. “Are you going home?”

Hutch ran his hands up and down the wheel. “No. I’ve made other plans.”

Starsky looked over at the bar, then back at Hutch. “With the same anonymous person you saw last night?”

Hutch made a point of looking Starsky directly in the eye. There was a cruel glint in Hutch’s gaze that made Starsky shiver. “Yes, as a matter of fact. We made another date. We have things to discuss. Important things.”

Starsky felt hot and constricted under the gaze. He momentarily debated whether or not to demand to know the identity of they mystery person, then concluded he was in no mood for another car fight. He opened the door and stepped out.

“You two old army buddies have a good time tonight,” Hutch called out before the door swung shut.

Starsky wished he’d slammed the door. The car shifted into gear and headed up the street, leaving Starsky standing on the pavement.

Starsky stood there as traffic whisked past him, watching after Hutch until his car had long since passed from view. He turned and walked slowly into The Pits.

It was dark, crowded, musky, noisy; everything a bar should be. The recently installed video games kept up a constant chatter. The tell-tale hum of a PA system droned just under the games. A band was setting up on a stage that had been excavated from some newly acquired space. The clack of billiard balls punctuated the entire cacophony. Starsky stepped down into the mélange and threaded his way among the sounds to a small table across from the stage.

Starsky sat down next to a man staring at an untouched beer. Starsky held onto the silence.

“Well, if it ain’t my two favorite mothers.” A hand landed on Starsky’s shoulder, and he twisted around to greet the speaker.

“Hi, Hug.”

Huggy sat down at the table and Robert looked up to see who had joined them.

Huggy repressed a double-take, but it was clear the resemblance to Hutch had taken him by surprise.

“My apologies,” he bowed in Robert’s direction. “I mistook you for the other half of this keeper of the public’s welfare, which you are most obviously not.” He leaned forward to look more closely at Robert in the dim light, then looked curiously at Starsky. “However, unless my eyes deceive me, I believe I perceive a—dare I say blond?—resemblance.”

Starsky smiled and sat up a bit in his chair. “Huggy, I’d like you to meet an friend of mine, Robert Hutchinson. Bobby, this is the dude I was telling you about, Huggy Bear.”

Robert nodded once in greeting. Huggy looked him up and down carefully. Again, he looked at Starsky curiously.

“Hutchinson,” Huggy mused. “As in Kenneth?”

Robert seemed to take no notice of the remark and resumed staring into his beer.

Starsky leaned forward on his elbows and grinned at Robert. “This is Hutch’s older brother.”

This time Huggy did the double-take. “No fooling’?” Huggy was fascinated by Robert. “I didn’t know Hutch had a brother. How’s it hangin’, bro?”

Robert looked up from his beer wearing a blank expression. He blinked at Huggy, then looked at Starsky and relaxed back into his chair. An enigmatic smile played upon his lips. “Things are too slow, too quiet, and too flat.” He pushed his beer toward Huggy, but looked at Starsky. “Give me some head.”

Huggy looked from Robert to Starsky. “Done.” He picked up the glass and rose. “And you?” he inquired of Starsky, the faintest of smiles playing across his lips.

“The same,” Starsky answered evenly. Huggy nodded and disappeared into the crowd toward the bar.

The conversation dropped back to nothing. Starsky shifted so he could watch the band set up. He recognized the group only as having never played here before.

Huggy reappeared and deposited two beers on the table. He sat back down next to Starsky.

“New band?” Starsky asked. He picked up his beer and sipped.

“Yeah, but they’re hot.” Huggy watched the members rig their equipment. “I’m gonna give ‘m their start, so they can make my place famous.” He turned his attention to Robert. “So, another of the Hutchinson dynasty has come to grace our fair city. Profit, or pleasure?” Huggy smiled.

Robert took the head off his beer. “A little of both, if the action’s right.” Starsky sent Robert a sidelong glance. Robert continued to direct his remarks to Huggy. “What’s your action, Huggy Bear?”

“Whatever I can get away with.” Huggy leaned back and appraised the two men. “I can’t get over it. Another blond Hutch. Where’d you dig this one up, Starsky?”

“I dug him up.” It was Robert who answered. There was a note of indignation in his voice, and Starsky had the impression it was very important Huggy understand who had begun the relationship. Starsky frowned.

“Yep, I found you, didn’t I, babe?” Robert said.

Starsky turned to Huggy. “Yeah. We met in ’Nam, Hug. A long time ago.” He looked at Robert quizzically.

“A long, long time ago,” Robert repeated. He took another swallow of beer. “I was your louie, wasn’t I, babe? And you were my RTO.”

“Translation?” Huggy requested.

“Robert was my lieutenant, and I was his radio officer,” Starsky decoded.

Robert leaned over and rubbed Starsky’s back. “I can’t tell you the number of times he almost got the shit shot off his back. This kid was so green he didn’t know enough not to wear aftershave in the jungle. Nearly got himself sucked dry the first time he set foot in the field.” Robert grinned at Huggy. “Tough street kid, this guy,” he jerked his thumb at Starsky, “got lost the first time he had to pee.”

“I did not!” Starsky objected hotly. His face flushed.

Robert continued to grin, ignoring Starsky’s discomfort. “And you should have seen this guy the first time he came back from Sin City. How many hypos of penicillin did it take? But I took you in hand, so to speak, and showed you how to navigate your way through _those_ jungles.”

Huggy started to speak, but the band had finished its preparations and a few experimental chords sliced through the room. The drummer gave a downbeat and the electric guitar let loose with an opening riff reminiscent of John Lee Hooker. Huggy nodded time approvingly.

Robert stood up. “On your feet, babe.”

Starsky had taken refuge in the music, and hadn’t heard Robert. Robert grabbed him by the arm. “On your feet!”

Starsky frowned up at Robert. This band promised to be good. Robert pulled on his arm, and he rose reluctantly. He reached into his pocket for a couple of bills, but Huggy waved them back. Robert pushed Starsky in front of him and they left the bar.

Starsky and Robert walked silently to the Torino. For a moment they both appeared to be heading for the driver’s side, but Starsky made a deft maneuver and ended up on the passenger side, tossing the keys over the top. He and Robert got into the car, with Starsky just barely getting his door closed before Robert peeled away from the curb. Starsky settled in for the ride, not knowing where they were going. It took a few street signs before he realized they were headed for Venice, and it dawned on him that Robert had made no wrong turns. It was as if Hutch were next to him instead of Robert. And it was natural. Starsky looked hard at the man next to him, examining him, comparing him to Hutch.

Bobby, at his physical peak in ’Nam, had been leaner than Hutch. Same structural foundation, just not as large. Thinner arms and legs, skinnier butt, lankier overall build. Well, except for one physical trait he’d been told the male side of the Hutchinson clan all shared.

The physical differences would have been slight in the dark were it not for Robert’s withdrawn look. The facial planes were sharper and more angular, as was his whole body. With a shock Starsky realized what the difference was—Robert had the look of a man recovering from a serious illness. A look Starsky had tried again and again to ignore in himself. He shivered at the comparison.

Robert drove around the block looking for a place to park and finally landed one across from Hutch’s apartment. The two walked across the street and to the building without a word. Starsky followed Robert up the stairs and stood on the landing as Robert made a great show of pulling a key from his pocket an inserting it into the lock. It failed to produce any results, and Robert yanked it out. Starsky fished for the right key from his pocket, and stepped forward to use it. Robert grabbed the key from his hand, and unlocked the door himself.

Once inside, Robert locked and chained the door. Starsky flicked on a light. “No. Turn it off,” Robert commanded harshly. Starsky quickly doused it.

A pink-tinged light filtered in from the slatted windows. Robert walked across the room and threw himself on Hutch’s bed. He lay face down.

Starsky walked over to the end of the bed and stood staring at Robert’s form. “Bobby?” he asked tentatively. “Do you want me to leave?”

There was no reply.

“Do you want me to stay?”

The shape on the bed didn’t move. Starsky rounded the end of the bed and sat down on the edge. He laid his hand on Robert’s neck and squeezed.

“Are you all right?” Starsky asked quietly.

Robert rolled out from under Starsky’s hand and sat up on the opposite side of the bed. “You know what I need?” He reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. ”A little relaxer.” The bag dangled between his fingers.

Starsky reached over and took the bag. Even in the dark he could tell what it was.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked softly.

“Questions, questions, always questions,” Robert sighed. He snatched the bag back. He pulled out a joint. “One,” he offered it to Starsky. “That’s your ration.”

Starsky turned away from him. “No, thanks.”

A small giggle erupted from Robert. “Don’t tell me you quit?” He leaned toward Starsky. “Afraid of tarnishing the image?”

Starsky picked at the bedspread. “No. I just gave it up. That’s all.”

Robert leaned even closer. “You quit,” he whispered, “because he never started.”

Starsky got up and walked over to the green house door. “You shouldn’t be messing out on the streets.” He rested his forehead against the glass. “It isn’t like it was.”

Robert got up and walked around him, planting his back against the glass, crossing his arms across his chest. “Why, babe?” His voice was low and dangerous. “Because it’s risky? Perilous? More perilous than ARVNs? More perilous than Bouncing Bettys? Or could it be that you don’t want me to cause any trouble for baby brother.”

For a second Nick’s face flashed in Starsky’s head. The image fled, and Starsky turned away. Robert grabbed Starsky’s arm and pulled Starsky to him, face to face.

“You got an answer for me, boy?”

Starsky set his mouth in a grim line. He kept his face turned away from Robert’s. Robert held onto Starsky’s upper arms and squeezed harder. “Well?”

“Let me go,” Starsky said.

Robert raised an eyebrow. “And just who do you think is in charge here, grunt? You? Baby Brother maybe? I don’t think so.”

Starsky flexed his biceps. Robert responded by spinning them around so Starsky was backed up against the glass, his head thudding dully against the pane.

“ _I_ give the orders here.” Robert’s face was an inch from Starsky’s. His breath was hot on Starsky’s face. “ _I_ am in command here. You do exactly as _I_ say, whenever _I_ say it, without thinking. Got that, _boy_?” Robert leaned in closer, his lips almost on Starsky’s lips—

The lock clicked on the other side of the room. It opened only so far, restrained by the door chain. A string of swear words resounded from the other side of the door.

“Cut out the crap and open this goddamned door!” Hutch yelled. He shoved against the door, but the chain held.

Robert glared at Starsky, then abruptly released him. He took a step back, then turned and strode to the door. He shoved it shut, eliciting more swear words, then undid the chain and stepped back. Hutch pushed through, slamming the door behind him.

“What’s with the chain?” Hutch asked angrily. “And what are you doing in the dark?” He switched on a light and found himself facing a flushed Starsky.

“You’re certainly hard to please,” Robert answered. “Yesterday I left the apartment unlocked. Today it’s too locked. Perhaps there is a happy medium you might let me in on?”

Hutch unzipped his jacket. “I never use the chain.”

Robert folded his arms across his chest. “Then why have one?”

Hutch pulled his left arm out of the jacket. “It makes Starsky happy, that’s why.”

Robert lifted an eyebrow at Starsky. “Really?”

“Who says I wanted that chain?” Starsky moved into the center of the room, still flushed.

Hutch glanced at him, then slipped his right arm from the jacket. He draped it over the back of the couch and went to the refrigerator.

“And why did you want that chain?” Robert continued. “To keep people out? Or to keep people in?”

A pop top clicked in the kitchen.

“Excellent idea!” Robert clapped his hands together. “Beer for everyone! Let’s party!”

Starsky took a deep breath and leaned against one of the posts. A change of subject was needed. “Your date ended kind of early, didn’t it?”

Hutch ignored the question, as well as the request for beer for everyone. He finished his own beer in three swallows, then tossed the can into the trash. He began unbuttoning his shirt as he crossed to the couch, pulling the tail out of his pants before he sat down. He balanced on the edge of a cushion and removed one of his boots. “Braverman’s trial starts tomorrow. I want a good night’s sleep tonight.”

Robert glared at him. “I don’t think you heard me. I said, let’s party!” He threw the plastic bag at Hutch.

Hutch fumbled for it, dropping his boot as he clutched at the bag. He held it up and examined it. “What’s this?”

“Need more light?” Robert switched on a nearby lamp. The bag twirled between Hutch’s fingers. “Oh, come off it.” He walked up to Hutch and snatched the bag back. “Are you really a cop, or are you just passing?”

Hutch stood up and faced Robert. “I don’t want that in my home.”

Robert stared back, deftly tossing the back to Starsky. “Fine. Davey will keep it for me.”

Hutch turned his gaze to glare at Starsky. “Starsky?” It was half query, half warning.

“Hey!” Robert pointed his finger at Hutch. “ You do not tell him what to do. You don’t tell me, you don’t tell him.”

“In my home,” Hutch’s eyes glittered, “I say what goes. And I say the pot goes.”

Starsky moved between the two brothers. “Okay, okay,” he soothed. “Let’s just cool it, huh?” He tossed the bag from one hand to the other. “Hutch is right. We’d be better off getting rid of this.” He took a few steps toward the bathroom, only to be pulled up short by Robert. Robert was gripping Starsky’s elbow, but staring at Hutch.

“What gives you the right to dictate to us how we live our lives?” Robert released Starsky. “You don’t have any kind of rights when it comes to me and Davey.” He stepped up to Hutch and pushed him. “Who do you think you are? A grunt?” He stiff-armed Hutch back another step. “You think you’re a grunt, boy? Is that what you think you are? You think you’re on the same level as me and Davey?” He pushed Hutch a third time. “Let me tell you something, _boy_. People like you aren’t fit to be grunts. You aren’t even fit to be men. The only thing you’re good for is _buttfucking_.”

There was a second of absolute silence, and then Hutch was on Robert. Hutch grabbed Robert’s jacket and swung him down on the couch. Robert tried to roll out from under him, but Hutch used his weight to keep him pinned down. He pushed Robert deep into the cushions. Robert clutched at Hutch’s arms, trying to loosen his grip. Hutch bore down on Robert’s chest.

Starsky dropped the bag and leapt behind Hutch, grabbing him around the waist. He attempted to lift Hutch off Robert, but couldn’t find the leverage. He gripped Hutch tighter, sucked in his breath, and hauled Hutch backward. Hutch still clung to Robert’s jacket, who was pulled upright with them both. Starsky twisted savagely, his shoulder exploding in pain. Hutch went sideways, lost his grip, and tumbled to the floor with Starsky. Robert fell back on the couch. Hutch landed against the coffee table. Starsky took another roll and ended up on his knees, clutching his shoulder.

Panting and smells of sweat and anger filled the room. Hutch picked himself up first, keeping his back to the others. Robert lay with one arm across his chest, the other across his eyes, sucking in air. Starsky dropped to a sitting position, rubbing the pain from his shoulder, his face grimacing.

Robert suddenly swung his legs off the couch and sat up. He stared at the floor a moment, then rose and walked toward the door. Starsky watched him pause in the doorway, then leave without looking back.

Hutch turned around. He spotted the forgotten bag and scooped it up, holding it in his palm as if to gauge its weight.

“How much does he smoke?” Hutch demanded. “How much did he smoke over there?”

Starsky looked up at him. “What?”

“How much!” Hutch yelled. The light caught the flush in his cheeks.

“Damn, you have got a one-track mind!” Starsky shouted back. He continued to massage his shoulder, struggling for control. “Look: Everyone carried party packs. Those were little bags of—“

“I know what they are,” Hutch spat back. His arm dropped to his side and he turned away.

“Bobby took care of us,” Starsky pleaded. “He let us smoke, but not a lot. Just enough to keep us sane. That’s all. And he made sure we stayed away from 100s. So that’s how much we all smoked. Satisfied?”

“And apparently _he_ still does,” the edge crept back into Hutch’s voice.

“So?” Starsky shot back. “It’s just grass. He can handle it. Bobby can take care of himself.” He was suddenly exhausted by this conversation.

“Surely his doctors can’t approve!” Hutch burst out. But this time his voice held more concern than anger.

“They probably don’t know,” Starsky replied. “Drop it, will you? Just forget it.”

They stared hard at each other, then Hutch looked away. He lifted the bag in his hand and hefted it once more. He resolutely walked toward the bathroom.

Starsky rotated his shoulder experimentally, and finding it nearly pain-free, stood up. He turned to look at Hutch, who had paused just inside the bathroom doorway. He was slumped against the door frame.

“Starsky?” A small voice called from the bathroom.

“Yeah?”

“Am I so different?” Hutch turned sideways and leaned back against the frame. “Am I so far from understanding?”

Starsky thought a second. “No,” he answered quietly. “Not really. A lot of what we’ve seen on the streets is just as horrible and empty as what we saw in ’Nam. But you’ve got to understand, Hutch. An alley fight isn’t the same as a fire fight.” Starsky gestured at the air, searching for words. “Seeing someone blown away by a Magnum isn’t the same as seeing someone wasted by a mine. You can’t know—“ he faltered. He remembered a night spent in a foxhole, rain so forceful he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, his only contact with reality an arm snaked around his waist, holding him tight. “You just had to be there,” he finished lamely.

“Is that why you never talk about it?”

Starsky scrapped a knuckle along his jawbone. He looked around the room as if he’d lost something. “I should go out and find Bobby.”

Hutch lifted his weight from the doorframe. “I thought you said he could take care of himself,” he said bitterly.

Starsky didn’t respond. Instead, he walked to the front door.

“Starsk.” Pleading has replaced the bitterness in Hutch’s voice. “I need to—we need to talk—“

Starsky turned his head, but didn’t look at Hutch. “Let me go.”

“Starsky, please—“

“ _Let me go_.”

Hutch gave in. He turned, dumped the contents of the bag into the toilet, and flushed. Starsky left.

Starsky jogged down the stairs quickly and rhythmically, pausing at the bottom to glance back at the landing. For now it was easier to go forward than to go back. Starsky opened the building door and stepped out into the sidewalk. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, checked for oncoming traffic, then dashed across the street to his car. He pulled the door open hard enough to send it bouncing back against his hip. He fell into the car and settled painfully into the seat, feeling as if the left half of his body had totally betrayed him. Starsky squirmed to find the keys in his jeans pocket, inserted them in the ignition, and revved up the car. He pumped the gas pedal a few times, listening to the engine grind, when the passenger door opened. Starsky let up on the gas and watched as Robert flung himself into the car.

“Let’s roll,” Robert commanded.

Starsky just looked at him. He shut off the engine.

“No.”

“Dammit, I said let’s move!” Robert slammed a fist into the dash.

Starsky continued to stare at Robert under the pink street light. “I’m not moving this frigging car a frigging inch until you tell me what the hell is going on,” he said firmly. “One minute you’re silent as a corpse, the next you’re laying bait fit to catch a bear. I want to know what’s going on.” Starsky twisted in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, signaling to Robert that he had no intention of starting up the car.

Robert let his head fall back and laughed. “You never baited your brother?” What was his name, Nick?” Robert rolled his head sideways and looked at Starsky. There was a hint of scorn in his eyes that made Starsky look away. “You and me, we both know about baby brothers, eh, babe?”

“You see?” Starsky gestured at the street in front of them. “You’re doing it again. One minute you’re breathing fire, and the next you’re laughing like you’ve just found the funniest joke in the world.”

“Maybe I have,” Robert cocked an eyebrow. “Found a good joke, that is.” He reached over and chucked Starsky under the chin.

Starsky twisted away from the hand and slid until his back was against the door. Robert scooted toward him in response, one arm draped along the back of the seat, the other hung on the steering wheel. It was impossible not to feel trapped. Starsky took a deep breath. “Bobby,” he tried to keep his voice steady. “I want to help you.” He sat as straight as possible. “Don’t keep everything to yourself, man. We used to be able to talk about anything.”

Robert’s eyes became slits. “You don’t want to know, man.”

“I don’t want to know, or you don’t want to tell me?”

Robert licked his lips and lowered his head.

Starsky reached across and laid a hand on Robert’s arm. “I’m strong.”

Robert’s head snapped up. “You’re strong? _You’re_ strong? Babe, you don’t know what strong is.” He inched closer to Starsky. “I was stronger over there than I have ever been in my entire life. Seven-foot square cells, babe. Solitary.” Robert’s voice was venomous. “Codes that began with a sneeze and ended with a cough, which taught you everything from French to Calculus. My mind was so strong I could remember the names of every kid in my second grade class and create a suspension bridge from the drafting of the blueprints to the painting of the white strip down the middle of the pavement! You and your bloody FUO that got you out of there, you don’t know what strong is!”

Starsky drew his hand back angrily. “I didn’t ask to get that fucking fever! I didn’t ask to be taken out of country!” he shouted defensively.

“What ask?” Robert glowered at him. There was open hatred on his face. “You were so feverish for so long we thought your brain was going to boil! You couldn’t even remember your own name!” He stabbed a finger at Starsky. “Doc didn’t know what you had, the doctors in Quy Nhon didn’t know what you had, so they had to ship you out!”

“I tried to get back to you!” Starsky countered.

“You were short!” Robert roared. “You had less than six weeks left to go! What did you think, did you think they’d send you back to me on a stretcher and we could lug you and that radio around in the jungle? Maybe have Ticher and Stevens carry you between them like some fallen warrior on his shield?” Derision filled his voice. “You don’t know strong because you’ve never been strong!”

Starsky’s eyes dulled with pain. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t fight, all he could do was swallow all his feelings. It was making him sick to his stomach, creating another lump to lie next to the one he was calling Hutch’s.

Robert was breathing heavily in front of Starsky. Suddenly, Robert lunged toward Starsky, taking Starsky’s head between his hands, kissing him. Hard. Hard and dry. Robert forced his lips against Starsky’s until their teeth ground together.

Then just as suddenly, Robert released Starsky. Robert shivered, then lost all rigidity in his body and collapsed back into the seat.

Starsky didn’t move.

After a moment Robert struggled to sit back up, then reached over, stroking a few of Starsky’s curls.

Starsky flinched involuntarily.

Robert continued to caress him. “It wasn’t your doing,” he whispered.

Starsky held steady under the touch, but refused to meet Robert’s gaze.

“Go home.” Robert gave Starsky a final pat, then turned and opened his door. He exited the car and shut the door behind him.

Starsky moved to watch him as he rounded the car and crossed the street. He glanced up at Hutch’s apartment in time to see a figure moving away from the window. Starsky looked back down at the street. A car pulled away from the curb—Hutch’s car. Robert slowly cruised by, heading in the direction of the beach.

Two lumps lay in Starsky’s stomach, two ulcers, two hells. He started his car and drove off.

 

 

**Chapter Five**

 

Starsky’s typing was interrupted by the phone. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and picked up the receiver.

“Starsky,” he answered. “No, he’s not down here. I think he’s still in court. Yeah, I’ll take it.” He waited for the switchboard to give him the call.

“Sergeant Starsky,” he repeated. “No, I’m afraid he’s not here. I’m his partner. Can I help?”

“Sure,” Starsky sighed again. He scrounged for a message pad and pen. He filled in the date and time as he listened to the message. A frown creased his brow, and he stopped writing.

“Uh, could you say that again so I’m sure I have it right?” He began to jot down major points of the message, and then repeated them as a final check He felt numb as his notes were confirmed.

“No. He’ll call you back. Yeah. You’re welcome.” The line went dead, and he dropped the receiver into its cradle. His heart thudded against his chest. Slowly, he folded the message and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He would try to complete his report.

 

vvv

 

Starsky spied Hutch just as he slammed through the doors at the end of the hall and turned into the Men’s Room. Starsky set his coffee mug down, slid off the end of the table he’d perched on, and exited the squad room.

He followed Hutch into the bathroom and found him pacing in front of the mirrors. Hutch’s navy blue suit was wrinkled and limp, the shirt underneath bearing the sweat stains of a day spent in heat and anger. The tie hung crazily around Hutch’s neck and the top collar button was missing where Hutch had ripped at it.

Starsky stood just inside the door, watching Hutch and his reflections stomp across the room. On one of his circuits Hutch paused just long enough to look Starsky in the eye, then resume his pacing. Had he really looked at Starsky, he would have seen a face set in stone and a posture taut with unreleased energy.

Someone tried to push the door open, but Starsky forced it shut by planting his back against it. “Find another one!” he shouted to whomever was on the other side.

After a few more moments of furious pacing, Hutch stopped and stared at Starsky. He pointed a finger at him and started to speak, then dropped his hand and turned to face himself in the mirror.

“Where’ve you been?” Starsky finally asked. “Court was out hours ago.”

“I hate this tie.” Hutch stared at the reflection of the silky material, then pulled it off. He wadded it into a ball, spun around, and threw it into the toilet in front of him. He flushed, and watched as the bowl tried to choke down the strip of fabric.

“Feel better?” Starsky asked.

“Don’t patronize me,” Hutch threatened. “I've had more than I care to take today, and I don’t need any more from you.” He walked up to Starsky and grabbed the door handle. Starsky shoved it shut as soon as Hutch opened it, breaking his grip. Hutch backed away and glared at him.

“Are you going to let me leave?”

“Not until you calm down,” Starsky stated his terms. “Braverman’s lawyer called and told Dobey what happened as soon as the mistrial was declared.” There was an odd calm, belaying the set to his posture.

Hutch was too wrapped in his anger to notice. “He’s guilty!” he slammed a palm against one of the stall door, sending it flying.

“Fine. You’ll get another chance.”

“You know who’s fault this is?” Hutch snarled. He walked back to Starsky and stood less than six inches from him. “It’s Robert’s fault. He’s made such a mess of things lately nothing has gone right.”

Starsky looked Hutch in the eye. “Face it. It’s a wonder Braverman was even indicted at all. At least there’ll be another trial. I don’t like it any better than you do, but that’s the way it is.”

“You don’t like it?” Hutch mocked. “ _You_ don’t like it? Where the hell do you get off not liking the way one of _my_ cases goes? Who told you that you could have a piece of my action? Who gave you partial ownership of my life?”

Starsky’s back stiffened. He started to reach into his shirt pocket, but instead his hand turned into a fist. He stood trembling, then turned and yanked open the door. He forced Hutch backwards as the door flung open, stomping off down the hall without looking back.

Starsky slammed into the double doors of the squad room and thudded to the end of the table. He sat down heavily on top of it and pulled a chair over to prop his feet on. He clasped his hands and let them hang between his knees.

Just at the edge of his vision Starsky could discern Hutch outside the doors. He refused to turn and look at him. Hutch entered the room and stood at the opposite end of the table.

“Everyone left for the evening?” It was an absurd question; the room was obviously empty. Hutch toyed with a paperclip abandoned on the table.

Starsky snorted in response. He looked down at his feet. Now or never? Now. He pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket. “Message for you,” he said.

“What is it?” Hutch asked.

Starsky unfolded the paper. “It came while you were waiting to testify. To wit, the job is yours if you want it.” He held the paper out but made no further move toward Hutch.

Hutch walked around the table and snatched the paper away. He read it. His shoulders slumped. “How did you get this?”

“You were out, they transferred the call to me.” Starsky’s hands hung between his legs. “I guess that explains all those strange phone calls and dinners.”

Hutch laid the paper on the table and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “They had no business giving you my call.”

“Oh?” Starsky raised his head. “I was under the impression that was standard procedure with us. I take your calls, you take mine, share and share alike.” He paused. “Partners.”

Hutch turned away. “We’re not partners now, and we haven’t been for quite a while.” The words came out clipped and harsh. Hutch shut his eyes. “Starsky, I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you mean.” Starsky stepped down off the chair and faced Hutch. “It’s been obvious for some time. All this business about ‘my’ cases, wrapping yourself up in them and not letting me in. Not talking about them anymore. I know what you mean.”

“Dammit, Starsky!” Hutch turned away in frustration.

Starsky started to walk past him, but Hutch grabbed him and pulled him back. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”

Starsky pulled out of Hutch’s grasp and took a step back. “’Right’?” he echoed.

“ **Right**.” Hutch folded his arms across his chest. “This is one of those ‘big things’ you wanted to discuss last night, but which for some reason we weren’t able to get around to.”

Starsky shifted uncomfortably but kept his eyes locked on Hutch. “I can’t believe you kept this from me!”

“You’ve been keeping this from yourself!” Hutch exploded. “I wanted to tell you about this, but you’ve been too busy with Robert to give me any time!”

“Don’t give me that crap,” Starsky warned. Fists clamped against his thighs and he took a step forward. “You’ve been hiding from me until you had an escape plan all worked out! You were going to call it quits, only you didn’t have the guts to tell me! You were just going to let me hang until it was too late and you were gone!”

“Bullshit!” Hutch yelled back.

Starsky glared at him. He raised his fists half-way, then dropped them and stomped around Hutch. Hutch grabbed his arm and swung him back. Starsky tried to pull away, but Hutch forced him up against a file cabinet, pinning him.

“You’re going to listen to me whether you want to or not.” Hutch’s breath was hot and moist on Starsky’s face.

Starsky pushed back, but Hutch merely threw more of his weight against him. A flicker of pain passed over Starsky’s face.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? The shoulder, I mean,” Hutch said between clenched teeth.

Starsky glowered at him in reply.

Hutch continued to press against him. “At best you’ve got 75% mobility in that arm. Not to mention the problem with spasms you can’t shake.”

“I’m fit,” Starsky’s voice wavered in anger. “Wait until the report comes through and says so. Then I’ll be certified.”

Hutch’s eyes darkened “If the report says so, it will be because we pulled in every favor ever owed us.” He abruptly released Starsky. Starsky fell forward a step, then regained his balance.

Hutch lowered himself into a chair. He picked up the message and fingered it. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice was soft and thick. “I _was_ going to tell you about this last night. But you had to go off—“ he stopped, took another breath, and began again.

“This message,” he held up the paper, “is from Dan Taggart. We went to school together. He was in my fraternity.”

“I’ll bet,” Starsky snorted.

“Okay,” Hutch looked up at him. “Go. Get out of here. Believe what you want. I don’t care anymore.” He leaned forward and buried his face in his arms.

Starsky stood over Hutch, anger still racing inside him. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. “No,” he said as calmly as possible. “I want to hear this. I want to know what goodbye sounds like.”

Hutch jumped up and whirled on Starsky. “Dan Taggart is VP at MasCom International here in L.A.” He stood face to face with Starsky, the message wadded inside a fist under Starsky’s nose. “I’m sure even you have heard of them. _He_ called _me_ because they’re looking for a new head of security, and he thought I just might be exactly the person they’re looking for.”

“And are you?”

The question hung between them.

Hutch appeared to wilt. His arm dropped to his side and the paper fell from his fingers. He turned to lean over the table as if he meant to vomit.

“It’s no good, Starsky.” The words were faint and had lost all their edge. “The report’s no good. We went too far this time.”

“ _No_ ,” Starsky said. “ _You_ went to far this time.” He stepped forward and leaned around Hutch. “You had no right to make any decisions without me. I am perfectly capable of returning to active duty. I may be a little slower, but I’m just as strong as I was before. We _can_ go back. You just don’t want to.”

Hutch looked up into Starsky’s face. “Strong?” He stood and captured Starsky’s wrist, squeezing tightly. Starsky looked to his hand, then into Hutch’s eyes. Hutch stared back at him, squeezing hard. A tremor started up Starsky’s arm, and his lips drew into a thin line. Starsky’s gaze returned to the grip in which Hutch held him. The tremor grew to a visible shake.

“Stop it,” Starsky hissed. Hutch released him. Starsky drew his wrist to his chest and massaged it.

“Do you see?” Hutch shook his head. “It’s no good. I can’t accept that you’re as strong as you were. I can’t believe in that. And neither can you.”

Starsky stepped away from Hutch.

“I’m _tired_ ,” Hutch continued. His head was bowed. “You don’t know how tired. I feel as if I’m carrying around a ten-ton block of cement inside me. There’s no joy anymore, no fire. There’s just a sick ache, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life carrying it inside me.”

Starsky ignored Hutch’s confession. He continued to rub his wrist. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He was spent. “This is crazy. You’re crazy.”

“Starsky, I want to quit.”

Starsky ceased ministering to his wrist. “I’m going home.”

“We have to talk about his!” Hutch yelled. He slammed a hand on the table and shot up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Starsky could feel things about to burst inside him. He tried to talk through it. “Why haven’t we talked about this before?”

“When?” Hutch countered. “When you were in the hospital? When you were home recuperating? You couldn’t have handled it then.”

“You don’t know that,” Starsky said.

“Yes, I do know that,” Hutch replied. “And then we found out Robert was alive, and coming home, and you were so preoccupied with that there was no time to talk about anything.”

Starsky advanced on Hutch. “Don’t try to pin the blame on me. I don’t want to hear excuses. You’ve put me up against a wall! All of a sudden, twelve years of partnership are on the line, no warning, no choices, no nothing!” The words tumbled out, one over the other. “This past year’s been one big lie. I thought we were working toward the same thing, but it turns out you were just leading me along. For all I know, you’ve got a dozen other secrets—“ Starsky stopped. “Is there something else you’re not telling me? Something about me?” he asked fearfully.

There was a hint of cruelty in Hutch’s voice when he spoke. “I could tell you you’re worse off physically than you think, you know,” he taunted. “Just to get you to quit.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Starsky growled. “Answer me.”

“You know the answer,” Hutch spat. “There’s nothing you don’t know. You’re just ignoring what you do know.”

Starsky glowered at Hutch. “You’re a coward, you know that?” His voice dipped to it’s lowest tones, those reserved for promises—and threats. “You run from everything. Whatever’s the easiest way out, whatever’s the line of least resistance, you take it. You can look tough, you can talk tough, but when it comes to making decisions, you haven’t got the balls to make them.”

Hutch returned the anger in Starsky’s eyes, but remained silent.

They glared at one another for a moment, then Starsky turned away. “You bastard. Of all the things you’ve ever done….” His shoulders slumped. Starsky jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Starsk,” Hutch pleaded. He reached out and put a hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

The doors to the squad room opened and a cleaning lady rumbled in with her cart. Starsky shrugged the hand off.

“Not here,” he muttered.

“Where?”

“Your place,” Starsky answered.

Hutch hesitated. “Robert’s at my place.”

Fire flashed in Starsky’s eyes. “My place, then.” He glared at Hutch, turned, and fled the room.

“I’ll follow you,” Hutch said.

Starsky kept walking.

 

vvv

 

Starsky pulled into his driveway and stopped the car. He watched in the rearview mirror as headlights appeared behind him. Starsky exited his car and marched up the steps to his apartment, aware of a body behind him. It stopped when he did. He separated the door key from the others, but as he attempted to insert it the door fell open an inch. Starsky pulled back the key and started to push the door open, only to be shouldered aside by Hutch.

“Pardon me,” Starsky muttered.

Hutch pushed the door open and peered inside cautiously. Satisfied things were in order, he strode inside.

“All clear?” Starsky asked facetiously. He followed Hutch inside and shut the door. Hutch turned on a light and slipped out of his jacket.

“Make yourself at home,” Starsky sneered.

“Stuff it.” Hutch stood in the middle of the room

Starsky tossed his jacket on a nearby chair. “Hold that pose,” he advised. “I’m just hitting the john.” Starsky walked toward the bathroom, then stopped. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m running away.”

Starsky rounded the corner into the bedroom, only to be confronted by a figure spread-eagled on the bed. He flipped on the light. It was Robert.

Robert blinked in the light and struggled up on his elbows. “Hey, babe,” waved a hand at Starsky. “Where’ve you been?”

Hutch suddenly walked past Starsky into the bedroom. “I heard voices,” he said angrily. “I should have known he’d be here instead of at my place.” Hutch caught hold of Starsky’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Starsky looked down at the hand on his arm.

“Let him go.” Robert swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge.

Hutch made no move to drop Starsky’s arm.

“I said, _let him go_.” Robert attempted to stand, but his legs buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the bed and pushed himself to an upright position.

“Oh, will you look—“ Hutch dropped Starsky’s arm, disgusted. “He’s high. He’s stoned out of his gourd.” Hutch took a step toward Robert. “Look at the big soldier now,” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “Can’t even stand on his own two feet. But then he never could. He always had to have someone carry him. Mother, father—“ Hutch’s eyes suddenly lit up. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it! He turned to look at Starsky. “You came here to get Starsky to carry you!” Hutch turned back toward Robert. “You coward. You lying coward. You didn’t come here to see me. You came here to hide behind another man’s balls!”

“Coward?” Robert was trembling. His hands balled into fists and he took a shaky step toward Hutch.

Starsky moved between the two men and placed his hands on Robert’s shoulders. “It’s not worth it,” he said.

Hutch spun and walked from the bedroom. Robert glared over Starsky’s shoulder. “So I’m a coward?” he yelled at Hutch. “Then what do you call letting some bastard shoot up your partner while you stand there and watch?” He paused for effect. “I call it a set-up!”

Starsky lifted his hands and stepped backward. Hutch reappeared in the bedroom, pale and sweaty. Robert smiled.

“He didn’t mean that,” Starsky countered hastily.

“Yes, I did.” Robert stepped around Starsky and closed in on Hutch. “He thinks I’m a coward? I think he’s a coward. And I think he knows he is one, don’t you, Baby Brother?”

Hutch, ashen, turned and fled into the other room. Starsky rushed past Robert and followed him.

“That’s not what I told him,” Starsky stammered.

“Then what did you tell him?” Hutch had his back to Starsky.

“Listen,” Starsky walked up to Hutch. “Can’t we just sit down and talk all this out?”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” Robert stood just behind both of them. “As a matter of fact, I think everything’s just been settled.” He walked over and gripped Starsky’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. “We’ve just seen the true face of Baby Brother here. He’s weak, he’s a coward, and he’s certainly no good for you.”

Starsky twisted furiously and pushed Robert away. “Stop it!” he demanded.

Hutch turned, the color back in his face.

“Don’t!” Starsky commanded before Hutch could speak. His head was pounding and it felt as though liquid fire were rushing through his veins. “If the two of you are trying to make me choose, then you’re both doing a terrific job of making me want neither of you!” Fire flashed in his eyes. “I will not be a pawn in this game! I will not be the prize in this ridiculous tug-of-war!”

Hutch brushed past him and picked up his jacket. “You don’t have to choose anything.” He put the jacket on. “You two can have each other for all I care.” No emotion showed in his face and nothing was betrayed in his voice. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said coolly. Hutch turned and left.

Starsky started after him.

“Let him go,” Robert ordered. He sat down in the wicker chair, hands folded in his lap.

“Damn you,” Starsky whirled on Robert. “Why did you say that?”

Robert shrugged. “Because it’s the truth. He betrayed you, babe. It’s his nature.” Robert stared past Starsky, focusing on nothing in particular. “I had to make you see that he’s walked out on you the same as he walked out on me. The same as he walked out on the family, the same as he walked out on Vanessa, the same as he’s walked out on everybody he’s ever known.”

Starsky shook his head, chest heaving. An hour ago he’d stood accusing Hutch of just that. He felt desperately confused. “You’re—“ he raised his face toward the ceiling, eyes moist. “What are you?” he pleaded. He lowered his head to stare at Robert, dislodging a tiny drop of moisture.

Robert’s eyes were still unfocused. “It’s just you and me now, babe. Just like it was.”

The two lumps in his gut fused into a single, huge boulder, blistering the insides of his belly. Prickles of adrenaline punctured his skin. Fever skimmed his body, abruptly replaced by icy cold. Starsky shivered, light-headed and bone-tired. The boulder exploded in a burst of knee-weakening nausea. Starsky looked at the opened, empty door. His gut was empty, too. And both lacked the same thing.

Hutch.

Starsky shook his head. “No. Not just like it was. It can never be like it was. That part of us is over.” An overwhelming sadness bore down on Starsky.

“Who says?” Robert asked. “His Highness?”

Starsky shut his eyes. “No.” He took a shaky breath, pushing damp curls off his forehead, He opened his eyes and looked at Robert. “Dammit, Bobby, it’s nearly twenty years later.” Starsky’s voice was soft but steady. “We are not living in a jungle halfway around the world. You are not my commanding officer. And we’ve both lived through so much in the time we’ve been apart that I’m not sure either of us are even the same person.”

Robert stared at Starsky. “What are you saying?”

Starsky shifted on his feet. “I wanted us to be the same. As soon as I saw you at the airport it all came back, all the old feelings. But they were _old_ feelings. They’re connected to an _old_ time and an _old_ place. I’ve grown up. I don’t need teaching and protecting. I don’t need someone to tell me what to do and where to go and how to be. I need a partner, not a parent.”

Robert took a step forward. “ _What are you saying?_ ”

“I’m saying we can’t be what we once were to each other. I’m saying if we want to keep on being buddies, we’ve got to be different kinds of buddies to each other.” Starsky exhaled deeply. “I’m saying you have to accept that Hutch is my partner now.”

Robert’s eyes glittered. “You have lousy taste in partners.”

It was too easy. “Present company included?”

Robert walked up to Starsky. “You think I’m like him? You think I use people the way he does, take things from them, abuse and betray them?” Robert placed a hand on each of Starsky’s upper arms. “He’s got you brainwashed, man. He’s sucked you into his little world of ‘Kenny is King.’ Then he fucking drop-kicks you out of his life and you come panting after him like a lost little puppy.”

“Goddamn you two are exactly alike!” Starsky exploded. “Arrogant, egotistical, condescending, dictatorial—and jerks!”

Robert jerked Starsky closer. “Are you sure we’re _exactly_ alike? Shall I give you a little reminder of where we differ?”

“Let go,” Starsky tightened his biceps under Robert’s grip. He attempted to step back.

Robert yanked downward and twisted outward on Starsky’s left arm. Starsky howled and fell to the floor.

Robert straddled the body curling into a fetal position below him. Starsky groaned behind clenched teeth, eyes tightly shut, his right hand clamped on his left arm.

‘We’ll see who’s different from whom,” Robert rasped. He bent down and unbuckled Starsky’s belt. “Remember this?” Robert unsnapped the top of Starsky’s jeans and jerked the flaps apart to force the zipper down. “Remember all those nights we sucked and fucked and blocked out the dirt and the pain and the stupidity of it all?”

“Stop,” Starsky grunted, immobilized.

Robert grabbed the back of Starsky’s waistband, lifting and flipping, then pushing down. Starsky was now in a prone position. His face lay flattened against the floor, his right arm—his functional arm—lay trapped under his body. Robert yanked Starsky’s jeans down to his ankles.

Starsky tried painfully to pull himself up.

Robert jabbed a fist into Starsky’s left shoulder. “You’ll remember.”

Hot, black-red pain. Starsky barely felt his ass cheeks grabbed and roughly separated. Pain kicked through his left side with each shallow breath. Willing his body to move was not enough. He had to make muscle ignore agony and hope he didn’t pass out—

He pushed his right arm against the floor and he managed to flip his body. Blurred vision revealed why.

Hutch had Robert in a choke-hold, lifting Robert’s desperately flailing body upright.

Starsky’s vision cleared enough to recognize Robert was strangling.

“Hutch!” Starsky shouted hoarsely. “No!”

Suffocating seconds passed before Hutch threw Robert to the floor.

The only sounds were three men gasping for air.

Starsky lifted himself to a sitting position, just able to work around the ebbing pain without blacking out. Hutch stood trembling. Robert crawled forward, away from both men. Someone let loose a string of expletives.

Robert rose to all fours, rocking back and forth. “ _Chu_ _hoi, chu hoi, chu hoi,_ ” he chanted hoarsely.

Starsky leaned forward, held his breath against the pain that remained, and awkwardly inched his jeans up his legs. Hutch voiced another string of expletives.

Robert pushed off the floor and righted himself. Starsky got his jeans as far as his thighs. Hutch began walking toward Robert.

Starsky did the only thing he knew would stop Hutch. “Help,” he called.

Hutch stopped.

Starsky pulled his left forearm up against his waist and leaned over it protectively. “Need help,” he pleaded.

Hutch was immediately squatting behind him. Hutch grabbed Starsky around his waist and lifted him to his feet. He steadied Starsky with one arm while pulling Starsky’s pants the rest of the way up.

“Thanks,” Starsky said, managing to finish the job and zip his fly. He let his weight ease back against Hutch’s trembling body, glad for the support, but also knowing it would keep Hutch from Robert.

Robert’s back was to both of them. He shuddered, then stumbled toward the still-open door. He paused, clinging to the frame, then lurched down the stairs.

“Oh no you don’t,” Hutch hissed. He shoved Starsky off him and followed Robert.

“No more, please!” Starsky called, finding enough balance to pursue both Hutchinsons. He virtually tripped down the stairs, hanging onto the railing for support. Starsky stopped at the bottom. His chest heaved as he gasped for air.

Robert was leaning against the hood of Starsky’s car. Hutch stood a few feet behind.

“Well? You going to finish what you started? Or are you a pussy?” Robert’s head lifted, his taunts directed at Hutch.

Hutch took a step forward, his fists compulsively clenching and unclenching.

“Stop it,” Starsky pleaded.

“Here, pussy pussy,” Robert called.

Hutch took another step forward.

Starsky lifted himself off the railing and lurched to Hutch’s side. He put a hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “ _Enough_ ,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

“Inside?” Robert took a few steps backward, his arms spread wide. “What’s wrong with outside?” He gestured at the yard. “Outside used to be good enough for us to do everything! _Everything!_ ” he shouted. “Every-fucking-little-thing!

A window opened in a house across the street. A head peered out.

Starsky moved away from Hutch and toward Robert. Robert continued to back away from Starsky, toward the street.

“Goddamn it, Bobby, _come inside!”_ Starsky said. Each step forward caused Robert to take a step back.

Robert slowly backed toward the street as Starsky came after him. “Make me!” he called. Robert seemed to enjoy the chase. He took a few more backward steps, then his foot caught the curb. Robert tumbled backwards into the street, landing with a grunt. He scrambled to his feet, and took a few more steps further into the road.

A car parked down the street started up, its headlights dark. It pulled away from the curb.

Robert was once again standing with arms wide and feet spread apart. “Come and get me!”

The car picked up speed.

Starsky was at the edge of the curb. The throbbing in his shoulder was making him nauseated. “No,” he finally decided. “Come or not. I don’t care anymore.” He turned back toward his apartment house.

The car roared up the street. It caught Robert in the hip, spinning him crazily. Robert rolled and bounced like a bag of trash tossed from the speeding car. He came to a crumpled halt in the gutter just as Hutch pounded up to him.

Instinct registered at least a partial description of the car and its direction as Starsky stood watching the calamity unfold.

“Ambulance!” Hutch yelled. “Get a black and white!” His hands skimmed Robert’s body, examining but not moving him.

A part of Starsky’s brain remained fogged even as he found himself inside the Torino, radio in his hand, dispatch crackling over the microphone.

 

**Chapter Six**

 

Starsky handed the receiver back to the nurse behind the desk and mouthed a “thank-you.” He allowed himself a moment to rest, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift. It drifted into a beautiful verdant jungle and he pulled it back.

He trudged back into the waiting room and sat down on the plastic couch next to Hutch. Hutch was hunched over, arms resting on thighs, hands clasped, head bowed.

“What did he say?” Hutch’s voice was barely audible.

“Dobey says they picked up Braverman junior as he was pulling into his old man’s car lot. The car he was driving matched the description we gave, not to mention it has a nice little dent on the left front fender. Looks like junior picked out one of his father’s cars, thinking he could hide it there after.” Starsky took a deep breath. Only an echo of pain remained. The miracle of Tylenol 3. “He’s not talking, of course, and his lawyer’s screaming bloody murder.” Starsky laughed tiredly and picked at a crusty blood stain on his jeans. “But my guess is he was following you, and thought Bobby was you.”

Hutch suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?” Starsky asked.

“I want to interrogate Braverman,” Hutch answered.

“So do I. Sit down.” Starsky tugged on Hutch’s jacket. Hutch easily allowed himself to be pulled back down. He curled back into his hunch.

“I made a mess of everything, didn’t I,” Hutch stated. “Robert. Braverman. You.” He covered his face with his hands. “Us.”

Starsky sat forward and rubbed Hutch’s back. “If you just wouldn’t try and handle everything by yourself….”

Hutch stood up again.

“Now where are you going?”

Hutch looked around . “Out. Away.”

“That solves a lot,” Starsky muttered. He looked at his watch. “We should know something soon. We might even be able to see him.”

Hutch’s eyes darkened. “Why?” There was an edge to his voice which made Starsky straighten a little.

“Because you’re his brother,” Starsky answered in irritation. “I think the least you could do is be there for him when he needs you.” There was no energy to his fight but the words tumbled out anyway. His muscles ached with renewed tension.

“You’re here.” Hutch’s lip curled in disgust. “I’m sure he’d a lot rather see you than see me. You can reminisce about MASH units or whatever.”

Starsky took a deep breath and gripped the arms of his chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He was wired now.

“It means what it means. It means you should be with him. You’re the one he keeps going to. He obviously doesn’t want me around.”

Starsky closed his eyes. _After all that had happened tonight and all Hutch could still see was Robert’s rejection…._

Starsky found some will to relax his muscles. “I know what you’re trying to do. But you’re not going to get me to fight with you. Not now. I won’t fight.”

“So you won’t fight?” Hutch mocked him. “Then why did you go?”

Starsky’s eyes narrowed in anger. It had suddenly become all-important to have the last word. “I will not fight with _you_ ,” he snapped.

“Yes sir!” Hutch saluted him. “We will not fight, sir!”

Hutch held the salute, then lowered his arm to his side. All the fight fled his body. Hutch seemed to shrink.

“Go see him,” Starsky urged. _Fuck having the last word._

Hutch shook his head. “I can’t. He won’t want to see me anyway. He’d rather see you.”

Starsky took a deep breath. “You’re his brother. He _needs_ you.”

Hutch continued shaking his head. “You’re the one he came out to see. You’re the one he keeps going to. You’re more of a brother to him than I am.”

Starsky sat back and closed his eyes. “Maybe once,” he said. “But things are different now. I don’t know what I am to him. I don’t think he knows. But I know now he’s not what he used to be to me.” Starsky opened his eyes and looked up at Hutch.

Hutch was looking down at him. Red-rimmed, watery eyes met his. “I’m sorry.”

Starsky smiled grimly. “You are the most apologetic person I have ever known. Not everything is this world is your fault. Only some of it is,” Starsky said.

Hutch turned away.

“Mr. Hutchinson?” A doctor appeared.

“How is he?” Hutch stiffened.

“He should recover,” the doctor said. “The worst of it is a fractured pelvis, which caused some internal bleeding. We’ve stopped the bleeding, removed some bone fragments, and he’s being put in a cast now. He’ll be in it for some time, though—“

“Can we see him?” Starsky stood up beside Hutch.

“Tomorrow. Or I guess later today,” the doctor glanced up at the wall clock. “You should go home and get some rest for now.”

At the word “rest” Starsky felt the last bit of his energy bleed from his body. ‘Yeah,” he agreed. He took Hutch’s upper arm and squeezed it. “Let’s go home. We need to call your family.”

Hutch nodded silently.

 

 

**Chapter Seven**

 

Starsky walked through the door Hutch had just opened—meaning unlocked—for him. Hutch was on the phone, the cord stretched into a funny wave of curls.

“No, mother, he’s going to be _all right_.” Hutch arched his back and rubbed the hollow.

Starsky wandered into the kitchen and found himself a mug for coffee.

“No, they didn’t remove anything, and they’re not going to,” Hutch continued. “All they did was stop the bleeding and set the bones.” Hutch paused. “I don’t know when he’ll be out of Intensive Care.”

“I do,” Starsky offered, looking down at his coffee. “Tomorrow. So would you if you ever visited him.”

Hutch ignored Starsky.

“He’s out on bail,” Hutch proceeded. “No, I don’t know.” Starsky could hear a high, shrill voice on the other end. “I didn’t _do_ anything to him! I didn’t—Mother—I _know_ he wasn’t well when he came out here. I _know_ his doctors—Mother—“ Hutch shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t transport him—you can’t—fine, then fly his doctors out here! Do whatever you want! I’ll stay out of it!” There was another shrill tirade from the earpiece.

“Yes. You’re right. It was all my fault. I’m to blame.” Hutch acquiesced. “Yes Mother.” Pause. “I will.” Pause. “Whatever you say.” Hutch hung up the phone.

“She thinks I shouldn’t have allowed Robert to come out here, I should have flown back there to see him.” Hutch paced the room. “Especially since I’m a cop and I have crazies after me all the time.” Hutch stopped. “And she’s right.”

Starsky took another swallow of coffee, then poured the remainder into the sink. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “Not like she wants to make it out to be.”

“Not all of it, anyway.” Hutch moved again, this time circling the couch. “But some of it.” He moved into the kitchen. “Some of it is _always_ my fault. Always has been, always will be.”

Starsky rinsed his cup and set it on the drainboard. He stiffened his arms against the edge of the counter and let his weight fall on them. “Aren’t you exaggerating a bit?” He was immediately sorry he’d said that, for he really didn’t want to encourage this particular conversation. He looked at Hutch. “Bobby never talked about you that way.”

That seemed to startle Hutch. “He didn’t?”

Starsky shook his head. “No.” Maybe Hutch would listen this time.

Hutch began pacing again. “Of course he didn’t. He could afford to be magnanimous. He was Mr. Perfect. He was Mr. Flawless. I was the problem in the family,” he said sarcastically. “Since when have you ever had to live with being compared to an older brother who’s God’s gift to the world?”

Starsky shut his eyes and bowed his head. A similar argument, an older complaint rose from his memory. Hutch’s voice took on the echo of Nick’s.

“All my life I’ve had to live up to Robert’s image.” Hutch had stopped his pacing and was firmly planted in the entryway to the kitchen. “All through school every teacher we ever shared made sure I knew I was expected to be as outstanding as him. Grades came easy to him, but I had to work like a dog to keep up. And it was the same at home! Mother was always telling me what a wonderful son Robert was and how I should be just like him. And because he was so perfect he got away with murder! But could I? No sir! I was forever in trouble because I couldn’t be just like Robert!”

Starsky’s arm ached and he bent further to rest his weight on his forearms. “Can we cut the dramatics, please, Hutch?” He bowed his head until it touched the counter.

“ _Dramatics_?” Hutch vented his spleen. “You think I’m being dramatic? Do you know that when Robert left to school to enlist, I was also requested to enlist because it would outstanding in the community for the Hutchinsons to have **two** sons fighting for truth, justice and the American way? And when I hesitated, my parents insisted instead that I drop my major and switch to engineering? You see, I was expected to hold up the name of Hutchinson in the world of academia while Robert was upholding the American Way in Vietnam! But no one ever cared that I was working my butt off to accomplish just that! All they ever cared about were the heroics Robert was performing ‘over there’!” Hutch paused to catch his breath.

Starsky was having a hard time concentrating on anything.

“I never had a life of my own,” Hutch continued his rant. “Every friend I had except one came from Robert, and of course that friend was worthless according to my parents! Even Vanessa was a ‘gift’ from Robert. She was his girl first. But I’m sure you know that, he carried her picture around everywhere and told everyone how he’d graciously stepped aside so that bashful baby brother could have his shot. And bashful baby brother did exactly what was expected of him and took her for his bride!”

Hutch’s voice seemed as if it were coming from miles away. Starsky shook his head, pushing himself upright. “I’m sorry, Hutch. I wish I could make it all go away. I can’t.” He walked over to the couch and fell into the cushions.

Hutch paid no heed. “Even you were a hand-me-down,” he accused.

A sob caught in Starsky’s throat. “Hutch—“

Hutch cut him off. “When you showed up on my doorstep that first time, saying you were a buddy of Robert’s and he’d told you to look me up, I felt as if I was being thrown another bone. And when you’d tell all those stories about him and his heroics, I wanted to throw up. I was so jeal—“ Hutch stopped abruptly. His eyes closed in pain. His face was chalky.

_Finally,_ Starsky thought. _We get to the heart of the matter._ _For both of us._

Hutch sank onto the piano bench.

“Tell me,” Starsky said.

Hutch rested an arm along the wood drawer covering the keys. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“You were jealous—“ Starsky persisted ,”—because I was closer to him than you had ever been. Right?”

Hutch nodded. Barely.

“And angry. And hurt. And all those things you go through when you find out someone else has taken your place with someone you love.” Starsky spoke from experience, but he knew Hutch wouldn’t see that right now.

“But it wasn’t so bad when you thought Bobby was dead because there was no one to compete with anymore.”

The color drained from Hutch’s face.

“Then he comes back, and all the old stuff shows up with him. Am I right?”

Hutch hung his head.

“And maybe you’re not just jealous of me, but also of him.”

Starsky watched the vein in Hutch’s neck throb as his jaw line hardened.

“He and I—that was years ago,” Starsky spoke softly. “Another time, another place, worse than anything you can imagine. We needed each other, if only to keep from going psycho and walking out of a chopper or eating a pistol.”

Hutch remained silent.

“You do what you have to do in situations like that,” Starsky clasped his hands, rubbed a thumb over his forefinger. “Not always what you want to do,” he finished quietly.

The room was calm for a moment.

“Look. I’m not going to tell you Bobby and I weren’t close.” Starsky searched for words. “We were. But things are different now. It’s not the same anymore. He wants it to be, but it’s not. He doesn’t control me—“

“You could’ve fooled me.”

Starsky’s head snapped up. From some hidden reserve, adrenalin pumped into his veins. “I will not apologize for what we had before, or what’s going on now, which is nothing! No matter what you think you see, or what Bobby wants you to see, it’s not there! It’s gone! It’s over!” Starsky was now standing, breathing hard. “But he still deserves my respect, and my friendship! And he deserves yours, too!”

Hutch rubbed a slow circle on the wood with his thumb.

“Goddamit, Hutch! Do you honestly think I’ve lived my life according to Bobby’s instructions? That I picked you for a friend because he told me to?”

Hutch shut his eyes. “I don’t know. Did you?”

A transformer blew in Starsky’s brain, showering white sparks in front of his eyes. “Damn it to hell, Hutch, if you’ve felt this way about me all these years, then why in the hell did you keep me around?” His voice shook. “If you hated me so much that first time, then why did you even invite me back a second time?”

Hutch opened his eyes but didn’t look at Starsky. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“You’d better know,” Starsky pressed. His eyes were burning, the sparks causing tears. “For all I know, maybe you’ve just been using _me_ all this time as some kind of sick brother-substitute! Maybe all these years I haven’t been anything to you except a brother you could finally feel superior to!”

No answer.

Starsky clutched at his stomach, where the sparks were now burning into his gut. He stumbled back to the bedroom and fell face down on the bed. Every muscle ached, and every bone felt as if it weighed a ton. He could have thrown up, he could have cried, but no amount of thought could have moved his body. He tried to sink deeper into the mattress, looking for comfort.

The mattress shifted as a weight lowered itself next to him.

“What do you want?” Hutch’s voice was soft, quiet—traumatized.

Starsky kept his face squashed into a pillow. “You could quit playing the martyr, for one.” It was mean; Starsky didn’t care. Might as well throw out the whole list. “You could quit acting like you’re the only injured party here. You could at least pretend to be nice to your brother.”

Hutch was laying face up next to Starsky. “You do it,” he sighed. “You’re better for him, and he obviously prefers you.”

“God, let’s not start that again.” Starsky turned his head, his cheek resting on the pillow, his eyes on Hutch. Hutch was staring at the ceiling.

“Okay. I’m not going to care anymore how you and Bobby treat each other. I’m tired of waiting—wishing you’d act like real brothers. It’s obviously not going to happen.” Starsky took a breath, held it, then exhaled as his heart beat a count of ten. Hutch didn’t respond.

“And I won’t be played like a pawn between you two. I won’t be wrenched back and forth while you argue over who I like better. I simply won’t be used like that anymore.”

Starsky rolled over, trying to figure out exactly which spot on the ceiling had Hutch mesmerized.

“There aren’t words to describe how it was over there.” Starsky spoke softly. “And you’ll never understand, no matter how many movies you see or books you read. Bobby kept me warm. He kept me clean. He kept me _alive._ He taught me how to walk point, how to stay silent, and how to live with the insanity of the whole place.” Starsky felt for Hutch’s hand, placed his own over it. Hutch didn’t resist.

“And in case the similarities escape you, those were things _I_ taught _you_ when we first hit the streets.”

Hutch’s face reddened, and he turned it away from Starsky.

“He was my best friend,” Starsky continued. “Back then, he was the only best friend I’d ever had. And I owe him my life. He taught me more than I can ever repay. And if I choose to pay him back by remaining his friend, then so be it.”

He squeezed Hutch’s hand.

“When I got back to the States, and then got my discharge, I was alone again. I was back to being nothing. No education, a family that had been ripped apart, and Bobby was KIA.”

“I was just wandering around L.A., trying to figure out what my part in the whole mess was. I came to you because I thought you could tell me, just like Bobby had always done.” Starsky paused.

“Maybe that wasn’t fair. Hell, I know it wasn’t fair. I don’t even remember what we talked about that first time. But I do remember I felt better than I had in months. I felt like I had a chance again. I was more than just a number, a faceless grunt.”

Starsky released Hutch’s hand and sat up. “Hutch, _you_ made me feel that way! You gave me _fire!_ ” He looked down at Hutch. Starsky watched as bitterness bled from Hutch’s eyes, but his heart sank when he saw pain replace it.

“Don’t you see?” Starsky pushed. “If I hadn’t known Bobby first, if he hadn’t taught me all those things, I would never have had you. Like it or not, Bobby gave me _you_.”

Tears rimmed Hutch’s eyes, but he still refused to speak.

Starsky touched Hutch’s shoulder. “I’m going to tell you what you want to hear, even though you don’t deserve to hear it. You’re first in my life, not Bobby. But I still love him for what he did and what he was to me.”

Hutch curled up on his side, Starsky’s hand still on his shoulder.

“I’m not going to give up one of you for the other, though. You’ll have to either accept that, or—“ Starsky broke off, removed his hand, and slumped over.

“The least you could do is say something. Agree…disagree…apologize again.” He looked over at Hutch.

Hutch remained curled up. “I can’t,” he said, so softly Starsky barely heard him. “I can’t handle this anymore. I’ve been trying, but I can’t. I’m too tired, too scared, and I don’t want to end up crazy, or dead, or alone—“

Starsky lay back and curled his body around Hutch’s. “Dammit, Hutch, why do you keep all this inside you? Why don’t you tell me these things so we can work them out? You _are_ going to end up crazy or alone if you keep acting like this.” The words hung in the air, and Starsky felt a touch of surprise at their finality. It wasn’t exactly what he’d meant to say. “I mean—“ he started to correct himself.

“Don’t.” Hutch shook his head. “I know. I shouldn’t have hidden things from you. I shouldn’t have kept secrets.” He curled into an even tighter ball. “I wanted to talk to you, _needed_ to talk to you, I really did. But first we tried to quit, then you were shot, then Robert was released, then there was your therapy and Robert’s coming home and cases and trials….” Hutch’s voice trailed into nothingness.

Starsky held Hutch tighter. This had been going on even longer than Starsky had suspected. “God damn you,” Starsky breathed. “Part of me wants to forgive you and say it’s all right, but the other part of me wants to beat you to a pulp for what you’ve put us through.”

“I’m sorry,” Hutch murmured.

“Goddamn right you’re sorry,” Starsky murmured back. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

“Quit.” Another mumble.

“Aw, Hutch!” Starsky rolled away from Hutch until he was sitting off the opposite side of the bed. “You can never commit to anything, and when you do commit, it’s to the wrong thing.”

Hutch remained silent.

“Stand up for something!” Starsky slashed at the air with his hand. “Stand up for someone! Stand up for yourself!” Starsky slued around until his left knee rested on the bed and he could look at Hutch. “Your parents treat you like second-class shit, you give them more shit instead of telling them where to get off. That’s the easy way out. Your marriage is falling apart? You walk away and let her take you for all she can because it’s easier than fighting.”

“Hold it,” Hutch pulled himself upright. “You have no business talking about something you know nothing of.”

“Oh?” Starsky cocked an eyebrow. “Upon whose couch did you take up residence back then? And need I remind you about the post-divorce pregnancy she conned you into believing was yours? And even when you found out it wasn’t yours, you were going to support the baby anyway?”

Hutch turned away from him.

“Don’t like your job?” Starsky continued. “Then toss your badge into the ocean instead of trying to deal with the problem. Tired of your brother? Give him away. Tired of your partner? Buy yourself a ticket to parts unknown, then casually mention to him he’s welcome to come along _if_ he can be packed and ready to leave yesterday.” Starsky slumped, picking at the bedspread. “All those choices are the easy way out, babe. You wait until it’s too late for any options then cry over missed opportunities and lost alternatives.”

The room remained quiet as two bodies remained still.

“You called me ‘Hutch,’” Hutch murmured, breaking the silence, still hunched over and facing away from Starsky.

“What?”

“You called me ‘Hutch,’” Hutch said, a bit louder. “Not Ken, not Kenneth, and not Kenny. _Hutch_.”

Starsky scooted further onto the bed. “What?”

“When you first showed up at my door.”

Starsky remembered. Robert had told him how Hutch had begun refusing to answer to “Ken” or “Kenneth” in junior high, and insisted on being called “Hutch.” He’d picked it up from some movie. “Kenneth” was what his parents called him; that was out. “Ken” was his school name. And of course “Kenny” was verboten; a name for sissies. So “Hutch” it was. But Starsky didn’t say this out loud.

“And we talked about my record collection.” Hutch turned his body a bit toward Starsky, but still didn’t look at him. “We played records all afternoon and you interpreted all the lyrics for me.” He chuckled softly. “You had the most outrageous imagination back then.”

Starsky held his breath.

Hutch shook his head. “I don’t know what to do or say anymore.” He choked. “Sorry isn’t enough. I wish I could go back and change things, but I can’t. I just don’t—I don’t know—“

“Pick one thing,” Starsky scooted a little closer. “Just one thing you want. Don’t think about it, just pick from your gut.”

Hutch drew a shaky breath.

“No. Don’t think. What do you want?”

“You,” Hutch whispered.

“You got it.” Starsky put his hands on Hutch’s shoulders and pulled him back towards him.

“But I can’t—“

“Shut up,” Starsky tugged at Hutch, forcing him to move back onto the bed where he could lean into Starsky and Starsky could encircle him with his arms. Starsky rested his head on Hutch’s shoulder. “You got me. No strings, no terms. Just me.”

Hutch took a deep breath within the circle of Starsky’s arms.

“Now how hard was that?” Starsky murmured into Hutch’s shoulder.

Hutch managed a shrug within Starsky’s tight grasp.

“We’ll work on those other things you want later.”

Hutch started to protest.

Starsky separated himself from Hutch and put his fingers over Hutch’s lips. “Now it’s time for what I want.” He leaned in, and replaced his fingers with his lips.

Hutch didn’t recoil, but he didn’t respond, either. Starsky moved back and looked into the watery blue eyes of his partner. “I want to be with you. I want to feel like I’m a part of you again,” he said softly. “I don’t know exactly how’s that going to happen in the future—I don’t even want to think about jobs and brothers and plans right now.” Again Starsky’s fingers found Hutch’s lips, traced their softness. “Right now, what I want is you.”

Starsky slid forward and kissed Hutch again. This time the lips under his relented, accepted; returned the burgeoning fervor. Starsky shifted his body until he was sitting on his knees, his body higher than Hutch’s, his hands cupping now-upturned face. He planted kiss after spun out kiss, softly at first, then more demanding.

“Been too long,” Starsky murmured between Hutch’s lips. He used his tongue to trace Hutch’s lips, then push between them, exploring the _wet_ and _hot_ that was opened up to him. Their tongues met, engaged, jousted, until Starsky sucked the pliant flesh into his mouth along with a deep and satisfying moan.

Starsky’s hands slid down to Hutch’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons as he continued to kiss and tease and tantalize every nerve ending in Hutch’s mouth. Starsky pulled the shirt from Hutch’s waistband and pushed it off his shoulders and arms, still engaging the succulent mouth and swollen lips offered up to him.

A tiny cry of disappointment came from the beautiful mouth as Starsky separated from Hutch, and, placing his hands on Hutch’s shoulders, pushed him back into the mattress. Starsky moved to straddle Hutch, quickly freeing himself from his own shirt, then hovering over the body lying compliant under him. He ran his palms over the smooth chest and abdomen, enjoying how easily they slid over the hairless skin. Starsky pressed a little, kneading pectorals, then let his hands stroke over Hutch’s nipples, rubbing small circles over them.

Hutch’s breath stuttered. Starsky took a nipple between each thumb and forefinger, first rolling them gently, then squeezing, then pulling to increase their length and firmness. Hutch gasped, his back arching slightly off the bed, his fingers grabbing into the blanket. Starsky twisted the hardening nubs, then slid his hands down to Hutch’s waist even as he lowered his mouth to the right nipple, flicking it gently with his tongue, then taking it between his teeth and pulling again.

A soft “ahhh” escaped from Hutch’s mouth, and Starsky sucked the nipple into his mouth and used his tongue to toy with it. He held onto Hutch’s waist tightly, keeping him from moving too much, only allowing Hutch to arch into his wet mouth. Hutch’s body stayed where it was, but his knees were beginning to bend and his leg muscles tighten. Hutch slowly dropped back to the bed, and Starsky licked over to the left nipple, giving it the same nips and flicks the other had enjoyed.

Starsky loved the feel of the tiny nubbins of flesh in his mouth, but he needed more. Desire strained through his jeans, and he wanted to see the same desire in Hutch.

Starsky made a line of sucking kisses down Hutch’s chest along his sternum, making his way to the waist and below. Starsky slipped the buckle on Hutch’s belt, opened the fly on his jeans, and tugged the down material until it stopped mid-thigh. This had the effect of virtually binding Hutch’s legs together, but Hutch didn’t seem to care. Starsky pulled down the white briefs until they were stopped by the jeans, and focused his attention on Hutch’s erect cock.

He blew gently on it, watching with interest as it stirred and seemed to inch higher on Hutch’s thigh. Starsky lowered his lips to the hot flesh and kissed along its length, then took it in his hand to turn it so that its entire surface would know his lips.

Hutch groaned, his hands still gripping the bedspread, his head tilting back into the mattress. Starsky let his tongue slip through his lips to lave the thick flesh, making it wet and shiny and responsive to his every lick. Hutch’s cock grew longer, larger; Starsky lifted it and lapped at the underside, making sure not to miss the tender scrotal sac. Then he drew his tongue along the underside, from the base to the head, long, luxurious strokes that once again caused Hutch to arch from the mattress. Starsky followed the line of the vein underneath, each long lick lifting Hutch higher off the bed.

Starsky’s tongue finally settled on circling the head of Hutch’s cock as his left hand gently squeezed the length and his right hand slid under an ass cheek.

Hutch was alternately moaning and groaning, his legs trapped under Starsky’s butt, his fingers keeping a tight grip on the bedspread, his head rolling back and forth on the mattress. Starsky circled his tongue a bit lower, then opened his mouth and took in the first inch of Hutch’s cock. He sucked on it, feeling it move and pulsate in his mouth, using his hand to keep it from slipping out and deserting him. Starsky lowered his head further, taking in more of the pulsing member, swirling his tongue around and around the treasure.

Starsky lifted up, not quite releasing Hutch’s cock, then lowered as far as he could, almost as if he were measuring it. Starsky moved his mouth up and down, alternately sucking on the flesh and blowing around it, making it shiver and quake at his bidding. His hand continued to clutch the base, pumping it, urging Hutch’s cock to take full advantage of Starsky’s hot mouth. The fingers of Starsky’s right hand slid into Hutch’s crack, stroking up and down, tickling the sensitive area.

Hutch was breathing heavily when he could breathe; he was either holding his breath or gasping out groans as Starsky began to move his head up and down more rapidly. Squeezing, sucking, stroking; the throbbing in Starsky’s mouth grew more insistent and Hutch’s hips began to bounce up and down on the bed. Starsky moved both hands around Hutch’s cock and held it firmly in his mouth, his tongue measuring its circumference, then pinning it against the roof of his mouth as Hutch cried out and bucked under Starsky’s weight.

Starsky sucked as if he could suck Hutch dry, then released the quivering flesh and began licking it again, gently, tenderly, lovingly. Hutch’s body remained rigid, then gradually relaxed as Starsky lifted up from Hutch.

Hutch’s eyes were closed and his head rolled heavily from one side to the other. Starsky took a deep, satisfied breath and stepped off the bed. As Hutch lay still, Starsky removed his boots, then his jeans and briefs, leaving Hutch tantalizingly naked. Starsky kicked off his own shoes and skimmed off his jeans and briefs, then disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a tube of K-Y.

He once again straddled Hutch. Starsky reached down and caressed Hutch’s cheek, causing Hutch to look up at him with happily glazed eyes. Holding on to Hutch’s gaze, Starsky squeezed a blob of jelly into his left palm, then reached down and began stroking his own stiffening cock. Starsky slid his hand over it slowly, then two hands, coating the turgid flesh evenly until it glistened. He sat erect, his own head falling back as he stroked and caressed his own cock, feeling it grow under his intense ministrations.

Starsky trailed a single finger over and along his cock, sending shivers up his spine. He momentarily stopped his attentions to his cock and trailed slippery fingers up to his nipples, circling them then sliding back down to his cock. Little electrical tingles connected his cock and his nipples.

Starsky looked down at Hutch, who was still staring at him rapturously. He shifted to slip a knee between Hutch’s thighs, and Hutch obligingly widened his legs to allow Starsky to kneel between them. Starsky squeezed another glob of jelly into his palms, then leaned over and slid the sides of his hands under Hutch’s balls and between his ass cheeks, spreading the cheeks apart and coating the crack. Hutch lifted his ass off the mattress, then drew up his legs and bent his knees to give him better lift off the bed.

Starsky’s palms slid over and around the globes of Hutch’s ass, kneading the firm flesh and squeezing it hard. Then his fingers dove between them, coating Hutch’s crack and even sliding up the perineum and over Hutch’s balls. A confident finger swirled over Hutch’s asshole, then dipped inside to coat the sensitive inner surface. It was hot and tight, and closed over Starsky’s finger.

Starsky pulled out his finger and sat back. He grabbed Hutch’s thighs and lifted them onto his shoulders, leaning forward to lift Hutch’s entire back off the bed. Hutch held his weight lightly even as Starsky watched Hutch’s cock become semi-erect with the stimuli. Starsky shifted his knees to balance himself and Hutch, then grabbed his own full erection and held it firmly as he guided himself into Hutch.

His cock stopped at the slippery entrance. Starsky pushed a little, and he moved into Hutch steadily. Hutch’s ass cheeks clenched, then relaxed, and Starsky pushed in a little further. The sensation was incredible: Hutch was imprisoning him with a white heat, holding him so tightly Starsky vaguely wondered if he could release anything. Starsky alternately pushed and waited, Hutch clenched and released, until Starsky’s balls pressed against Hutch’s ass and they were essentially one body.

Starsky began to rock back and forth on heels, holding onto Hutch’s ass and rocking them as one. Starsky’s cock throbbed almost painfully inside Hutch, his own balls tight and stretched. Starsky’s body was overtaken by primal motions, and he began to slide out and then back into Hutch.

Hutch responded with his own primal motions, pulling back as Starsky pulled back and pushing forward as Starsky pushed forward. Starsky gripped Hutch tightly for balance and intimacy, as Hutch gripped the bed for support. Starsky slid out as far as he could without slipping from Hutch, then back in as far as he could, first slowly, then more urgently. Passion fueled his rhythm, and Starsky pushed harder and pulled faster to increase the friction on his pulsing cock. The bed creaked under them and Starsky’s grunts were now joined by Hutch’s groans until a hot line of lava exploded from Starsky’s spasming cock and sent them both into a shuddering tangle of arms and legs.

Starsky had fallen from Hutch and lay panting, prone, next to him. Hutch lay supine, one arm under Starsky’s chest, the other gripping Starsky’s right arm. Their legs were still intertwined.

“I’d forgotten,” Hutch whispered.

“I hadn’t.” Starsky turned his face toward Hutch.

A darkness passed over Hutch’s face. “You didn’t tell him, did you? He doesn’t know, does he?”

Starsky shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them with calm in his gut and only one Hutchinson in his heart. Hutch. His lover, his partner, his friend. “It’s nobody’s business but ours.” 

Hutch nodded. He ran a hand over his chest, as if trying to replicate Starsky’s attentions.

“What now?” asked Hutch.

Starsky shrugged, content to lay where he was. “Go again?”

Hutch snorted. “I think you’d get about as much as I got in court last week,” Hutch chuckled.

Starsky lifted his head. “You mean screwed?” he grinned crookedly.

“No satisfaction,” Hutch corrected.

“You finally got your man,” Starsky said, laying his head back down.

“That I did.” Hutch patted Starsky’s arm and snuggled closer.

 

 

 

 


End file.
